


Drawing down the moon

by Hangmans_Radio



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, And all that entails, But Gerard Way is the cutest warlock ever, Dark fic, Gerard is a ray of sunshine, Hanging, M/M, MCD but not Frank or Gerard, Mikey is definitely not, Non-Graphic Violence, This ain't no picnic friends, Witch Hunts, non-consensual undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 129,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmans_Radio/pseuds/Hangmans_Radio
Summary: The witchcraft AU no one asked for!When Frank gives up his trade as a blacksmith in favour of learning The Craft from a master perfumer, he never expects it to be so hard. But in a town where witch hunts are rife, and the path between light and dark seems more blurred by the day, he must learn to choose his friends wisely.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 484
Kudos: 311





	1. Saturn Return

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> So I've been sitting on this story for a looooong time. I really wanted to get all my other works finished before I started it, and that time is finally here. And it couldn't be more perfect, because when I started this fic, MCR were not back and this whole witchcraft aesthetic ™ had not come into play. It's like the stars have aligned and now I have a well of inspiration to draw from - so thank you Gerard Way! 
> 
> I'm trying something new with this one gang and intend to keep it M rated, mostly to see if I can actually form a plot that doesn't revolve around sex... >__> I hope it works out, but please be kind because I am having such an anxiety about it ;___; I shall also include more tags if and when they come into play, but right now, I'm not 100% sure which direction this will go. As ever, I rely on the characters to make those decisions for me... so for now, I hope you'll all join me in another adventure <3

When Frank pushed open the door, a little bell tinkled above his head. He looked up, surprised, and for a moment was utterly distracted by the ingenious little device attached to the doorframe. 

“Sorry, I’m not doing business today.” A voice called out from somewhere in the back of the cluttered space. “Come back again next week.”

Frank faced forward, seeking out the owner of the voice, but could see no one. The hairs on his arms began to stand on end and a smile tugged at his lips. He had wondered, had _hoped_ even, that the stories might be true; that this place would simply _feel_ magical, but he hadn’t really believed it would. 

But there was just _something_ about this place that reeked of… otherness. The air was dense with it, smelling at once sweet and musky, and yet bitter and acidic too. It was like a meadow of flowers, and a crackling fire, like sweat and heat and fresh, summer air all at the same time. It captured you the moment you walked through the door, so that even all of seconds after entering, Frank knew he was in the right place. 

“Master Way?” He called, standing on tiptoe to try and get a clearer view over the tops of cluttered countertops and stacks of colourful books. “My name is Frank Iero, I’m a blacksmith.”

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen’s royal farrier-” The voice called back, 

“Well, funny you should say…”

“-I said I’m not doing business today. So come back again next week.” A man suddenly appeared from behind the counter closest to the fire burning in the back of the cottage. He planted his hands on the table top and leaned over it, squinting at Frank. He had soot smeared across one cheek, and his black hair was a flyaway mess. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and secured there with two little gold pins that Frank suspected were intended for ladies wigs. 

“Master Way?” Frank looked at the man with some surprise. He had been expecting someone much, much older. This man looked barely any older than him. “My name is Frank Iero-”

“Yes yes, I heard you the first time.” The man looked Frank up and down, as if to assess him. “You’re a blacksmith.”

“Yes sir.” Frank came to stand before the counter, trying very hard not to let his eyes wander. He had been practicing his speech for weeks, and he knew that first impressions are important. He’d washed his best clothes especially for today, and he forced himself to look Master Way in the eyes, even though the cauldron bubbling over the fire behind him was testing Frank’s resolve. Or rather… the spoon inside the cauldron was. 

“Master Way,” Frank sucked in a deep breath to steady his nerves, “I have come here today to ask you to take me on as your apprentice.”

Way lifted his eyebrows, genuine surprise softening the features of his face. He looked Frank over again and then shook his head as if it to clear it. “I have no need for an apprentice.” He said rather shortly. “Especially not a smith. I make perfumes, boy. Not horseshoes.”

Way made a brushing motion with his hands, as if he could sweep Frank out of the door. “I’m very busy,” he added when Frank just stood there, “I don’t have time to talk. Please go about your day.”

“I want to be your apprentice.” Frank had expected rejection and wasn’t going to be so easily removed. “I know what you are-”

“ _What_ I am?” Way’s eyes flashed dangerously, his brow furrowing into a look of deep suspicion. “And what do you mean by that, hm?”

“I know you’re a witch.” Frank said boldly, before his cheeks flamed with colour at the expression on Way’s face. “F-Forgive me, Warlock.” He quickly corrected himself. “I know that you practice magic and I want you to teach me.”

Way’s eyes went wide and for a moment his jaw went slack, but he composed himself quickly. He scoffed at Frank’s words, a beat too late, and tried to wave them away with a flick of his hand. 

“Nonsense.” He snapped, trying to look angry but it didn’t quite work. Frank thought he looked scared. “I make scents, that’s all. Nothing magic about it.” As if to illustrate this point, Way grabbed a bundle of lavender from beneath the counter and began hacking at it with a knife. “I don’t know where you’ve heard your wild stories but-”

“It’s okay.” Frank said gently, glancing at the cauldron behind Way when he couldn’t resist and then back at him again. “I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to _learn_ , I want you to teach me magic.”

Way scoffed again, with much more derision this time. “Even if I was a warlock - _which I’m not_ \- what makes you think I would teach you?” 

Frank considered this, his gaze drifting around the room. He glanced at the stacks of books, the bundles of herbs, the dozens upon dozens of unwashed bowls and half burned candles. The windows were beautifully ornate but really rather dirty, and the rafters had so many things dangling from them - from dried flowers, to ribbons, to little copper pans - that it was impossible to tell if they served a purpose or if there had simply been nowhere else to put them.

Frank was alarmed to spot a cat as well, nearly invisible thanks to the rest of the clutter, curled up on one of the countertops. For a moment he feared it may be dead, but then he noticed it moving with each breath and gave a sigh of relief. 

“You have a familiar.” He smiled, nodding at the ginger feline as if it proved everything. 

Way did not look impressed. 

“I have a _cat_.” He corrected him. “Are we through here? Or do you need to stick pins in me before you can be sure I’m not a witch?”

Frank’s cheeks blazed red again and he hurried to apologise. 

“Please,” he begged, “I want to learn. I’m a fast learner, and I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Why?” Way stabbed his knife into the countertop with such force that it sank three inches into the wood. Frank stared at it for a moment, and then slowly met Way’s angry, hazel eyes. “Why would you, a smith, even want to learn the craft.”

“Because…” Frank wet his lips with his tongue. They had gone terribly dry all of a sudden. “It’s… It gives you power, doesn’t it? Protection.” 

Way frowned, but he didn’t look quite so angry now. The lines around his eyes were softening slightly, a look that Frank recognised from years of sympathy. 

“Protection…” Way said the word slowly, as if he had never heard it before and was testing how it felt in his mouth. “What do you need protecting from?”

Frank averted his gaze, his heart racing. “I don’t.” He said stiffly, annoyed with the direction their conversation was taking. “Please. I just want to learn mag- _the craft_. Can you teach me?” 

A tense second of silence passed, and for a heartbeat Frank thought that maybe, _just maybe_ -

“No.” Way shot down his hopes like a hunter felling a deer. “I make perfumes. If you’re looking for potions and curses, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. There’s no magic here.” 

Frank knew for a fact _that_ wasn’t true. He folded his arms, glaring at Master Way, but when it became clear the man was not going to budge, Frank simply shrugged and turned as if to leave. 

“Fine. You say you don’t know magic, then I believe you.” He lied, sauntering halfway to the door before turning back again. “Actually, maybe I ought to tell you then…” 

Way, who had gone back to chopping the lavender, heaved an annoyed sigh and glared at Frank. “What?” He asked in the most disinterested tone he could muster.

Frank smirked, his eyes full of mischief, and walked right up to the counter. He planted his hands upon it, just as Master Way had done, and leaned in close. 

“Try not to be alarmed,” he said sweetly, “but your cauldron is stirring itself.”

And so it was. The long handled spoon had been consistently stirring in a clockwise direction ever since Frank had entered the cottage. When Way turned around and saw it, he cursed angrily under his breath and stopped the spoon with a flick of his fingers that was so abrupt, it sent the utensil flying half way across the room.

Frank turned to watch it go, his mouth hanging open. The spoon sailed through the air and then clattered down onto the chipped floor tiles where it began to ooze a strange purple liquid between the cracks. 

“Wow.” Frank had never seen anything so incredible in all his life. He whirled back around to Master Way and beamed at him, his eyes sparkling. “That was amazing!”

Way was looking both surprised and annoyed at himself. He pursed his lips and glared at the spoon, as if it was all it’s fault, and then slowly looked to Frank again. His cheeks had the faintest dusting of pink across them, and Frank couldn’t help but marvel over just how young Master Way was.

“You do realise…” Way said slowly,” ...that we are in the middle of an age of terror.” He came out from behind the counter, walking slowly across the room to retrieve the spoon. 

Frank looked him over, noticing just how tailored Way’s black trousers were. They were nothing like the ballooning breeches favoured by the men at court. They were sleek and fitted, hugging Way’s hips and thighs as well as a glove might hug a ladies fingers, and flared ever so slightly at the bottom to allow for Way’s boots to reach his ankle. He must have made the garment himself, there was no other explanation for it’s perfect fit.

“Witches are being hanged here every week.” Way bent down to pick up the spoon and Frank politely turned his eyes away. 

“I know that.” He wasn’t an idiot. “No one suspects you though.”

Way did not look impressed. He glared at Frank as he straightened up. “Those women who have been killed so far… how many of them do you believe were actually witches?” 

Frank blinked, taken aback by the question. He looked at Master Way, at his cool, hard stare, and felt something shift inside him. He had heard nothing but good things about this man; had heard all about how kind he was, how sweet and good-natured. He hadn’t been expecting such steel, but he thought that maybe he was beginning to understand it. 

“I don’t believe any of them were witches.” Frank’s answer came to him unbidden, but as soon as he said it, he believed it to be true. “I think they were just women.”

“Just women.” Way repeated with a sad little smile. “Yes. I think so too, though there’s no _just_ about it.”

Frank watched as Master Way returned to his cauldron, his shoulders a little more sagged than before. He stirred the contents with the spoon - by hand this time - and then left it to rest against the rim of the pot. He kept his back to Frank as he said, 

“Go home smith. I have nothing I can teach you.”

Disappointment crushed Frank. It didn’t feel like he was going to be able to talk his way around it. Master Way was clear. 

“Please.” He said quietly, too desperate to give in. “Please, Master Way. I beg of you. If you won’t apprentice me, then please just agree to teach me. I want… I _need_ this.” Frank clasped his hands over his chest, his eyes wide and pleading. “It’s like… like something inside of me. I’ve always felt it, I just didn’t understand it and now it grows and grows and… I feel like, if I don’t get it out, it will kill me. Do you understand? I have to get it out, or it will _kill_ me.”

Master Way tensed, the muscles in his back visibly bunching together beneath his loose fitting shirt. There was a second that passed so agonisingly slowly, it seemed to take forever, and then Way turned. He looked at Frank, his eyes narrowed slightly, and cocked his head to the side. 

“Something inside you?” He repeated, sceptical. “Have you ever done anything… unexplainable? Something you could describe as magic?”

Frank wracked his brains, desperately searching his memory for any such occasion, but he already knew it was useless. If he had ever done a single magical thing in his life, he would surely remember. 

“No.” He admitted quietly, his cheeks going red. “No, never. But I-”

“Never.” Way shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “Do you think magic can be taught?” He scoffed, striding back around the counter to start sifting through one of the stacks of books. “It can’t. You don’t just… become magic, you must already _be_ magic. But don’t take my word for it-”

Master Way found the book he was looking for and brought it over to Frank, handing it to him with a flourish. 

“Read this. It will tell you all you need to know, which is to say, that you cannot _learn_ magic.”

Frank took the book and looked down at the cover. It was bound in green leather, and the title on the side could have been written in elvish for all Frank knew. He flipped it open, stared at the writing within and bit his lip. 

“But I… I can’t read.” He looked up at Master Way, his eyes large and pitiful. He looked so terribly downtrodden, that even Way couldn’t help but feel bad. 

“You…” He shook his head, dazed, and hardened his heart. “You cannot read? Then your situation is even more hopeless than I thought.” He began to stride around the room again, finding books from all manner of strange places. These books he unearthed from within cupboards, or beneath the floorboards, or tucked out of sight in the rafters. One he even dug out from within the log pile by the hearth. And there were so _many_ of them - big ones, small ones, ones that were chained shut and ones that had loose pages sticking out at odd angles. There were illuminated manuscripts and ones that were full of strange symbols, and one that even looked as though it had been bound in human skin. Master Way carried them all to Frank, and dropped them down at his feet with such a riotous thud that the walls seemed to shake.

“To learn the craft, you must read. In fact, _reading_ is perhaps the only required skill - besides actually being magic. These books-” Way patted the top of the pile with a smug expression, “-are merely the _foundation_ of that learning. I would need you to read _every single one_ of these books, cover to cover, before I would even consider lending you a drop of my time.” Master Way shrugged, his face finally calm. “But since you are not magic, and you cannot read, I think it is abundantly clear that-”

“If I read these books, will you apprentice me?” Frank interrupted him, talking in a breathless rush. His eyes had lit up, and he stared at the pile of books with a hungry expression.

Master Way balked, one eyebrow rising slowly. “But you can’t read-”

“But if I _did_. If I learned to read and then I read these books, you’d apprentice me?” He stared at Master Way, with such a fierce determination in his eyes that he stole the breath right out of Way’s lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such fire in another person’s eyes, and it called to him.

“Well I…” Way hesitated, and that was all the confirmation Frank needed. 

“I’ll do it.” He declared, bending down to pick up the books. They were heavy - too heavy to carry - and he realised Way must have been using some sort of magic to lift them. He would not be deterred though. He gathered up as many as he could, and used his foot to push the others towards the door. 

“Just you wait!” He said cheerily as he shuffled awkwardly round the clutter in his way. “I’ll be back - and soon! I’ll read these, and then I’ll be back!” 

Master Way was too speechless for words. He watched Frank struggle, and for some reason, felt the need to take pity on him. 

“Frank, wait.” He groaned, annoyed at himself for being so weak, and grabbed a basket down from the rafters. It was full of various animal bones, which Way dumped from it without a word, before he handed it to Frank. It was a large basket, large enough to carry all the books, if Frank balanced them on top of each other. 

Frank was surprised but delighted. He thanked Way earnestly, getting to his knees to pile his books into the basket. Once he was done, the whole thing was so heavy that he had to drag it up against his chest. He balanced it there, the muscles in his arms bulging, and flashed Master Way a cheeky grin. 

“Would you get the door for me?”

* * *

The castle courtyard was always abuzz with activity, especially on long summer days like this, and as Frank got closer and closer to home, he began to worry over how he was going to sneak his books to his room without anyone noticing. Everybody in the forge knew that he couldn’t read, so even if he managed to get past the guards and the hounds and the kitchen door without anyone turning their head, there was no way he could get through the forge without Two Beard seeing him. And if Two Beard saw, he’d ask questions; questions that Frank couldn’t hope to answer in any reasonable way.

Frank worried about it all the way to the castle gates, only to arrive there to find that the courtyard was empty.

Frank stopped short, staring at the abandoned space in stunned silence. The courtyard was hardly _ever_ empty. It was only ever this quiet when there was some sort of festival or event going on. 

“S’another hangin’ boy, on hangman’s hill.” A soft, croaking voice came from Frank’s left, making him jump even though the person was so softly spoken. Frank knew who it was immediately and he stepped through the gates so he could turn and see Blind Mag sat on her perch on the other side of the wall. 

“Mag!” He snapped, his heart rabbiting in his chest as it so often did whenever he looked at the old crone. “How did you know I was there?”

Blind Mag laughed softly, and then almost hacked up a lung for the effort. Once she had recovered herself she shook her head and grinned a toothless smile. “I’m blind boy, not deaf.” She turned her head and spat onto the floor, leaving a little puddle of yellow slime. 

Frank grimaced and took another step back, far out of her firing line. “There’s another hanging? Is that where everyone is?” He asked her, already half turned to leave. 

“Aye.” Mag nodded slowly, like an old donkey bobbing its head. “All the li’l chickens went off t’ cluck an’ peck. But they’ll be not long b’hind. M’sure I heard t’ neck snap jus’ before you came lumberin’ over.”

It was truly a good thing that Mag was blind, or else she might have taken offence over the expression of pure disgust on Frank’s face. He had never known a more strange or terrifying woman, and yet Mag was revered by the court. No one seemed able to agree on whether she was the Queen’s great-great-great grandmother, or whether she had been a lady-in-waiting to the Queen’s great-great-great grandmother. Or whether she was merely an ex-kitchen wench or a wet nurse in days gone by or had merely wandered into the castle one day and made herself at home. The only thing that anyone really knew for sure was that she was now a part of the castle, as surely as the battlements or the old tapestries lining the great hall. She spoke a bit slow and funny, and she was so old her skin looked all melted, like candle wax. But Two Beard said she was wiser than the day was long, and that Frank should treat her with respect.

“I better get to work then.” Frank backed away slowly, so that Mag didn’t think he was trying to run away. “Have a nice afternoon Mag.” He was always extra nice to her, even though she was rarely so kind herself.

“Wha’cha carryin’ there boy?” Mag squinted after Frank, as if she would be able to see him if she just screwed her face up enough. “Books?”

Frank was sure that Mag must have some sort of extra sense. He shook his head and clenched his teeth, moving much faster now. 

“Just some uh… some tools! That’s all, just tools.” Frank would have ran, if the books weren’t so heavy, but as it was he settled for an awkward sort of hurried stumble into the forge.

Mag didn’t try to follow him, which wasn’t a surprise. She sat down every morning on her little perch by the wall, and didn’t stand up again until suppertime in the evening. She insisted on sitting in the same place every day, like a wrinkled old bird on a swing, and terrorised everyone as they came in and out of the gates.

Frank was glad to be away from her, and he shuddered away the last of his unrest as he stepped into the safety of his room.

There was nowhere to hide the books other than beneath the little bed Frank slept in. The floor of the forge was stone and dust, with no floorboards to even try to peek under. And as for furniture, Frank’s room had a bed and a chamberpot, and nothing else. Not even a window. He considered himself lucky that he even had a door.

Though, for a little while at least, he now had a basket he could use. He set it down in the corner and set about shaking the dust from his spare clothes so he could put them into it. There was no need to keep his clothes nice for working in the forge, but he’d like them to look nice for when he next visited Master Way.

When he was done, Frank went into the forge itself to check on the heart fire. It was supposed to be attended to at all times, and was Frank’s responsibility; it could burn for a whole day and night without losing any heat, but Two Beard would still be furious at Frank for leaving it if he wasn’t there when he got back from the hanging.

The heart fire was contained in a giant, metal furnace that had great pipes sprouting from it. The pipes criss crossed over the ceiling, and dropped down to several smaller furnaces where the blacksmiths worked their iron and steel. Each smaller furnace had its own fire too, but when those fires were put out at night, the heart fire kept everything hot and smoky, so that when they lit their fires again in the morning, there was no waiting around for the temperatures to rise. 

No one really knew who had built the heart fire, but Two Beard always said it had been invented during the Bloody Wars, where peace had died for an entire century and blacksmiths had had no time to rest. Two Beard always talked about it like he had been there at the time, even though it had been centuries ago, and he was still bitter about it.

“There you are boy!” _Speak of the Devil_. “Where in hell did you sneak off to huh?”

“No where Two Beard.” Frank hurried to open up the heart fire furnace and make himself look busy by tossing more logs into the boiling inferno within. “I went to see the hanging, that’s all. Just a quick look but then I came right back.” Frank did his best to look meek and small, peeking over at Two Beard with his chin pointed down. 

“Huh.” Two Beard - a great, hulking beast of a man - did not look convinced. He frowned sceptically, and Frank could practically hear the rusting cogs clunking in his troll brain. “Seems you must have the power to see the future.” He finally scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I didn’t hear about no hangin’ until long after I’d noticed you had gone.”

Frank’s blush was hidden by the heat from the furnace, and he thought fast. “I’d heard about it early.” He said quickly. “From Miss Nestor.”

“Is that so?” Two Beard started to smile; an ugly, knowing kind of smile, made all the uglier by the scar that twisted one corner of his mouth. It ran right over his chin and down his throat, splitting his beard in two. No hair could grow through the thick scar tissue, and no one seemed to know what had caused it, or what Two Beard had been called before it.

“And how was it Miss Nestor came to know of it so early?” Two Beard asked in a mock sweet tone. “Shall I ask her?”

Two Beard turned to the side and Frank’s stomach dropped when he saw Jamia waiting outside the forge. She was dressed in a pretty blue gown, the colour of a starling’s egg, and was keeping herself far enough back that no soot or dust ruined the silk.

“Sure.” Frank’s voice was hollow and calm, though inside his heart was racing. “I’m not lying to you Two Beard.”

It was clear from Two Beard’s expression that he didn’t believe that for a second, but that was nothing new. He never believed Frank about _anything_. 

Frank followed him outside, leaning this way and that to try and be seen past his great, muscular body. He lifted his eyebrows, trying desperately to convey with his expression that Jamia needed to back him up, but as usual, Jamia was too busy gazing at the sky to notice Frank’s hysteria.

“Your timing is fortuitous Miss Nestor.” Two Beard always spoke with a forced, overly-polite manner around the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. “We were just talking about you.”

Jamia turned her gaze to Two Beard with a delicate air of surprise. Her eyes shifted towards Frank, taking in his ridiculous expression, and then flicked back to Two Beard before a single heartbeat had passed. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. Frank was just telling me how you had been the first to hear about today’s hangin’.” That ugly smile was back, pulling at Two Beard’s scar like a fish hook. Jamia pretended not to notice, and simply looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Oh no sir. That’s not quite correct.” She glanced at Frank again, giving him a familiar look that Frank knew to mean ‘ _you owe me’_ , and then smiled sweetly at Two Beard. “It was _Her Royal Highness_ who was the first to hear of course, in case she should like to attend. But of course, Her Majesty is far too busy to drop everything in favour of a witch hanging. Especially when they’re happening so frequently.” Jamia gave a horrid, tittering laugh and Two Beard soon joined in with her, as if they were sharing some great joke.

Frank wrinkled up his nose and waited for the theatrics to end, arms folded sullenly across his chest. 

“I was actually hoping to speak to Frank.” Jamia went on once their laughter had died down. “On some state business. May I steal him away for just a moment?”

“Of course m’lady.” Two Beard moved out of the way with an aborted half bow. “Always a pleasure to see you m’lady.” He smiled at her, but as Frank walked past him he grabbed his shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze. “You be back here promptly boy, ya hear?”

“Yes sir.” Frank shook Two Beard’s hand away and dashed out of the forge until there was a safe distance between.

Jamia smiled kindly at Two Beard and drifted after Frank at a much slower pace. But as soon as Two Beard had turned to go back into the forge she darted over to Frank and hooked her arm through his. 

“So, what was that all about?” She hissed, grinning as they strode quickly across the courtyard. “You been sneaking out again?”

Frank looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was around and then pulled Jamia sharply to the left. They squeezed past a group of people returning from the hanging and then through the gate towards the kitchen gardens. One of the pot boys was collecting leaves from a bay tree, so they continued on and out of the walled garden, and into the fruit orchard beyond. 

“I went to see Master Way.” Frank finally answered Jamia once he was sure they were completely alone. “Have you heard of him?”

“Master Way?” Jamia frowned as she looked at Frank, immediately suspicious. “Of course I have. He’s a perfumer isn’t he?”

“I’ve asked him to apprentice me.” Frank whispered, his grin splitting his features. 

“Wha - at?” Jamia’s look of surprise quickly turned to mirth and she began to snigger as she let go of Frank’s arm and turned to face him properly. She looked him over, laughing louder when she saw he was wearing his best clothes - which were still creased and too big for him - and that he had even washed his hands and scraped the soot from under his nails. 

“Oh Gods, you’re serious aren’t you?” Jamia shook her head, as amused as she was astounded. “You? A perfumer?” She started to laugh again, doubling over as she wheezed and howled. “Frankie! What has gotten into you!?”

Frank watched her with a stony cold expression. He planted his hands on his hips and waited impatiently for her to calm down enough for him to be heard over her chortling. 

“I wanna get out of this place.” He said firmly once Jamia had straightened back up and was wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sick of Two Beard, and the forge, and all the shitty people and their shitty little gossip round the court-”

“Yes but Frank, a _perfumer?_ ” 

“Why not?” Frank snapped, throwing his hands up in despair. “Why not a perfumer?” 

“Frank,” Jamia spoke softer now, sensing she was upsetting her friend, “it just doesn’t suit you-”

“Yeah well, that dress doesn’t suit _you._ ” Frank retorted, feeling a little guilty thrill when his words made Jamia fall silent. All her merriment had gone, and in its place her face was set and indignant. She looked down at her silk dress, and her fingers tugged absently at the lace frills decorating the bodice. 

When they had been children together, Jamia’s dresses had been made of patched up rags. She hated them being too long and more often than not, she would tie the skirts up around her hips so she could run about in the woods with Frank without them getting in her way. 

Then, when they had been brought to the castle, she began her servitude in the stables, and was never seen to wear anything but riding breeches and boots handed down from one of the stable boys when he’d grown into his man’s body. 

When Frank thought of Jamia, the _real_ Jamia, that was who he pictured. The girl in the boy’s clothes, smelling of horse and hay, with her dark hair cut short so it would stay out of her way. That was the girl Frank had shared his first kiss with, quite unexpectedly, when Jamia had broken her wrist whilst out riding and Frank had gone to visit her with a bouquet of wild flowers to cheer her up.

It was not the girl he saw now. 

“The Queen likes me to dress this way.” Jamia spoke stiffly and held her chin up high, daring Frank to tease her about it. He usually did - calling her the Queen’s pet and tormenting her for dressing in silks and growing her hair out long. 

It had been after the riding accident when the Queen had first noticed Jamia in the first place; and seemingly for no reason at all, the young stable girl had quickly risen through the ranks to become one of the Queen’s Maids of Honor. And now, just a few short years later, she was without doubt the Queen’s favourite, and was the chosen girl to share the Queen’s bedchamber with her at night.

There had been no more kisses for Frank after that.

“Anyway,” Jamia went on when Frank’s insults weren’t forthcoming, “I only came to see you on my way to meet someone. But since you’re in a foul mood, I’ll go.” 

Jamia turned to leave, lifting her skirts an inch from the ground as if to exaggerate how she could walk like a lady now, but Frank rushed to grab her hand and stopped her.

“Wait, don’t go!” He begged, pulling Jamia back around and seizing her other hand as well. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said. I think your dress is very pretty.” He gave his most winning smile which only made Jamia scowl at him, her eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare. 

She considered Frank for a moment, looking him over again as if trying to spot something she might have missed, and then finally asked, “what do you want?”

Frank’s grin turned sheepish, but he would not be deterred. “I need your help.” He confessed, giving Jamia’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I need you to teach me how to read.”

This time, Jamia’s surprise was clear and honest. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment she was apparently speechless. When she at last came back to herself, there wasn’t a hint of derision or amusement in her tone. 

“ _Why?_ ”

“Master Way won’t apprentice me unless I can read.” Frank spoke in a rush, his expression desperate. “He said I can’t learn the cr- trade, unless I can read. It’s important Jay, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

At the use of the familiar nickname, Jamia’s face softened and she heaved a deep sigh. “Frankie…” She said slowly, pulling her hands gently out of his grip. “Reading isn’t something you can learn overnight, it takes a long time-”

“But you’ll teach me, won’t you?” Frank begged, grabbing her hands again and lacing their fingers this time. “I promise I’ll be the best student you could ever hope for.”

Jamia’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. She cocked her head to the side, and this time when she sighed, Frank knew he had won. 

“You won’t be a good student.” Jamia tried to argue, though her smile was growing now. “You’ll argue and talk back and won’t do as you’re told. And you’ll soon grow bored, I know you will. You’ve always been good with your hands, Frank, you won’t like reading.”

Frank scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I won’t get bored.” He promised. “And if I ever argue or talk back, even once, then I promise you can just forget the whole thing and I won’t stop you.”

Jamia gave a short, disbelieving laugh. She knew well enough that Frank would go back on that promise, but she couldn’t help but love him all the same. She shoved him gently and linked their arms again for a slow walk back to the courtyard. 

“Fine.” She groaned, laughing when Frank nudged her back and made their path zig-zag across the grass. “But I can’t just drop everything to teach you letters. And _you_ have the forge to worry about… It’ll be hard to find the time-”

“After supper.” Frank had his answer ready. “Two Beard’s always in his cups by then, and the Queen won’t need you until she’s done with her evening prayers. That gives us a little time.”

Jamia pursed her lips, but she couldn’t argue. Technically, she always accompanied the Queen to the temples, but she supposed she wouldn’t have to if she explained she had plans to help a friend. The Queen doted on her, and she’d never really refused Jamia anything. 

“Fine fine fine.” Jamia waved one hand airily, a little annoyed at herself for giving in so soon. “So when shall we begin?”

“Tonight.” Frank didn’t even have to think about it. 

“Frank.” Jamia scowled and shoved him again. “I need time to prepare, and to speak to the Queen. We can’t start _tonight_.”

“Tomorrow then.” Frank didn’t look happy about postponing his lessons, and Jamia had to admit she was surprised by his eagerness. She looked at him, trying to decipher what had possessed him to make him so suddenly determined to become an apprentice perfumer. It seemed so utterly out of character…

Frank kept looking straight ahead, refusing to meet her gaze. Jamia scowled at him, but when he still pretended like he didn’t know she was staring, she sighed and squeezed his arm. 

“Tomorrow then.” She agreed reluctantly. “I’ll meet you by the heart fire.”

Frank beamed and lifted Jamia’s hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Thanks Jay, you’re the best!” He said excitedly, letting go of her as they stepped out of the walled garden and back into the courtyard.

A small commotion was happening by the gates, where a plain but expensive looking carriage had come to a halt. Stable boys were rushing to untether the twin black horses from their straps, and one of the footmen was holding the carriage door open with a pompous air.

“Oh Gods, he’s early.” Jamia gasped when she saw. She rushed ahead of Frank, fussing with her hair and brushing the creases from her dress, her eyes wide and anxious. 

Frank raced to keep up with her, frowning. Whenever he saw Jamia look upset or distressed, his first instinct was the desire to protect her, and immediately he decided he didn’t like whoever was in that carriage.

“Who is it?” He asked, keeping his gaze on the carriage, where a heavy black boot had appeared on the foot step. “Is this who you were supposed to meet?”

Jamia looked fearful as she nodded. “His name is Azeroth Heron, he was sent here by the Head Priest.” She stood a respectful distance away from the carriage and straightened her posture, ready to greet the honoured guest. 

“Azeroth Heron. Sounds like a-” Frank didn’t get to finish his colourful insult, because Jamia dug her elbow into his ribs. 

“Get back to the forge, this man is the Queen’s guest and I’m to greet him.” She shoved Frank bodily away. “Go!”

Frank reluctantly did as he was told, though he kept his eye on the carriage as he drifted back towards the forge. A few people had gathered round to catch a glimpse of the stranger, including Two Beard, who was watching from the entrance to the forge. He glanced at Frank as he approached, but didn’t say anything.

When Frank reached him, he turned and stood at Two Beards side, wrinkling his nose up at the sight of Azeroth as he stepped down from the carriage and looked about himself with an air of distaste. He was a tall, skinny man, clad in long black robes. He had a hooked nose and long, spidery fingers, and skin so white he looked as though he’d been asleep in a cave for a hundred years. 

“Eugh.” Frank muttered under his breath, scowling as the man was approached by Jamia, and he made a show of taking her hand and kissing it with thin, dry lips. “What’s so special about him?”

Two Beard looked down at Frank, one eyebrow lifted in genuine surprise. “You don’t know who that is?” He seemed astounded, but Frank couldn’t figure out why. “That’s the Head Priest’s favourite pet.” Two Beard flashed Frank an ugly grin. “Azeroth Heron. They call him The Hunter.”

Frank glanced back to the man, who was being led by Jamia towards the castle entrance. His long robes made it look as though he were slithering along the ground. 

“What does he hunt?” Frank asked absently as he watched them go.

Two Beard’s grin widened. “Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, leaning down low to whisper in Frank’s ear. “ _Witches_.”


	2. Something wicked this way comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning! This chapter includes forcing a character to undress against their will.

Azeroth Heron was the sort of man who brought a chill along wherever he went. It seemed to radiate around him, pushed out by the clicking of his heeled boots and the ripples of his robes. His pale skin seemed to be white because of this cold, as if he were slowly freezing to death; or maybe he was even dead already, his dark eyes and waxy complexion certainly seemed to hint at it.

Even in the glorious afternoon sun, his supernatural chill made everyone he came close to, shiver. And when he disappeared into the castle with Jamia at his side, the sun seemed to suddenly brighten again and the spell that had kept everyone so still and quiet, was all of a sudden broken.

Two beard sucked in a deep breath, cleared his throat loudly, and then spat into the dust at their feet. He hitched up his belt and looked down at Frank, his nose wrinkled up at one side as if he were looking at something disgusting. 

“Don’t you have work to do?” He snapped, his gaze turning ferocious. “You’ve already slacked enough today as it is.”

“Sorry sir.” Frank jumped into action and scuttled back into the forge, but couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder at Azeroth Heron’s carriage. A couple of staff from the castle had appeared to help with the luggage, which consisted of one large, ebony chest. They carried it between them, holding one brass handle each, but it must have been heavy because it forced them both to bend forward slightly.

Frank found himself wondering what might be in there, as he strolled to his furnace and began setting up his tools. There would be clothes, of course, and probably books. Men from the priesthood always seemed to carry a great many books with them. But then what else? Torture devices? Pins for pricking witches? Candles and herbs for religious rituals?

The possibilities plagued Frank’s mind as he tended to the heart fire and whiled away the afternoon making iron nails for doors. He soon had a little pile of them, and sweat was dripping down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

The other smithies always got the more interesting jobs - Likes forging swords or armour. Frank only ever got to make weapons when he was proving his ability, and Two Beard always melted them back down afterwards and declared them useless. But Frank _knew_ his trade; he had been working in the forge since he had been ten years old, and had made more nails, door knobs and horse shoes than he’d had hot dinners. He could make a door nail with his eyes shut, he was almost certain, and daggers and swords would surely come just as naturally if he was only given a chance.

The problem was Two Beard. 

Frank couldn’t say why, but the master smith had always despised him. From the moment he had been tossed into the forge - a captive child, underweight and sickly - Two Beard had insisted he would never amount to anything, and seemed determined to make it so.

Frank would show him though. He hammered his nails with gusto, making sure the clang of his hammer on the anvil was just as loud as anyone else’s. He ran to and fro, answering demands that the other smiths called to him, and still finished his quota of nails by mid afternoon.

When he presented them to Two Beard, the man simply snorted and told him to go to the stables. “Surely they need some new shoes by now.” He scoffed, striding away without a single word of praise for Frank’s work.

It was nothing new, but Frank still grumbled to himself as he marched out of the forge and across the courtyard, around the right side of the castle to where the royal stables were built. 

As he passed Blind Mag she called out to him, “Wha’cha say lad?”, but Frank ignored her.

The afternoon sun was still gloriously warm, but with Frank’s soot smeared, overheated skin, it felt like a blessing to finally get into the shade of the stables. It was cool inside, and smelled like hay and horse hair, a smell that still made Frank think of Jamia.

“Afternoon Frank.” Rohan, the stable master, greeted him with a pleasant smile. “Been working hard I see.”

“Yep.” Frank flopped down dramatically into a pile of fresh hay and lay his hand over his forehead. “Someone should tell Two Beard that.”

Rohan chuckled and picked up a wooden bowl that was balanced precariously on an open stable door. “Here y’are lad. Been helping the boy milk the goats today, so he brought this over.”

_The boy_ Rohan was referring to was no doubt the stable hand, Marcus. The fact he wasn’t around then, but had been able to bring a bowl of the fresh milk to the stables, told Frank that he was more than likely helping in the kitchen. 

“Big meal tonight?” He asked as he sipped the milk straight from the bowl and hummed his pleasure. It had been sweetened with a piece of honeycomb that was still bobbing around in the centre, and the milk was wonderfully creamy. In the forge, they usually only ever got given the sour milk that had been diluted with water. 

“Of course.” Rohan chuckled at Frank’s dreamy expression and nodded at the bowl. “You go ahead and drink that all up, it’ll be good for ya.” 

Frank didn’t need telling twice and he flashed Rohan a big grin before gulping down a much larger mouthful. 

“That priest bloke’s getting a six course dinner so I hear. All hands on deck in the kitchen. If you’re lucky, you might get some scraps later.” 

Frank went almost giddy at the thought. Usually all the servants and staff were given the same old stews and broths. But after big feasts in the castle, any leftovers were shared out between the whole court. The Queen said that she hated seeing food go to waste, and during the harvest feast, they might even get whole roast pigs and trays and trays of turnips and beets sent down to the forge.

“Anyway, what brings you this way?” Rohan went on as he turned back to tidying away the riding gear from the day’s hunt. “I assume some sort of errand?”

Frank made a noise that could have been a ‘yes’ from behind the rim of the bowl. He was slurping greedily at the milk, and every now and then he poked his tongue out to dig into one of the holes in the comb, seeking out any lingering honey that hadn’t quite seeped into the liquid. He was comfortable in the hay, and could have happily stayed there for hours. If only Two Beard wouldn’t notice him being gone…

“Shoes.” He finally gasped as he surfaced from the bowl. “Need any?” He ducked his face again, lapping at the honeycomb, trying to bring it closer to the edge of the bowl with his teeth and tongue. He could use his fingers, but they were black with soot and would spoil the sweetness. 

Rohan watched him from over his shoulder, his face mixed with amusement and disdain. “No.” He chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he lugged each saddle into position on it’s wooden stand and strapped it down to keep its shape. “If we needed shoes, we’d have told you.”

Frank shrugged one shoulder and used the back of his hand to wipe the milk from his chin, smearing soot in the process. “Can you pretend you need to look so I can sit here a bit longer?”

Rohan laughed more heartily then and nodded his head. “Sure.” He shrugged, dragging the next saddle into position. “You tell your master you helped me check every horse, and if he comes askin’, I’ll back you up.”

Frank felt a rush of affection for the stable master and he beamed at him. “Thanks Rohan.” He said earnestly, trusting him completely. The man had always been extra kind to Jamia, and whenever Frank came bothering her in the stables when she’d worked there, Rohan never chastised them or told them to get back to work. 

Nor did he then. He simply went about his tasks as normal, and pretended not to notice Frank lounging in the hay, sipping at the milk and then licking the bowl clean when he was done. He picked up the comb with his fingers then and sucked noisily at it, making sure he didn’t leave a single morsel of honey behind. By the time he was finished, he was feeling very content indeed, and only wished he could curl up and have a nap.

“You look mighty pleased with yourself.” Rohan noted with a fond smile. “Be careful you don’t look too happy when you leave here.”

Frank snorted and chuckled. “Two Beard would definitely notice if I was too happy.”

“That he would.” Rohan agreed, his face serious as he looked beyond Frank, back towards the open stable doors. “But I wasn’t just talking about him.”

Frank frowned and leaned up on one elbow, turning to look behind himself. Through the stable doors he could see one of the Queen’s messengers striding across the grounds, heading directly to them. 

“What news?” Rohan called out to him once he was close enough, his face gone suddenly sober. It was enough to make Frank scramble to his feet, hurrying to brush the hay from his clothes.

“Your presence is requested in the banquet hall.” The messenger informed them loudly, with great pomp, as if he were delivering his message to a Lord. “Both of you.” He added, a little more weakly.

“Both of us?” Frank echoed, astounded. 

“Both of you.” The messenger gave one, curt nod of his head. “Promptly, if you please.”

Rohan exchanged a glance with Frank, one corner of his mouth twitching as if he might laugh, but when they faced the messenger again, it was to find him already gone. 

“Wha-” 

“I knew it would only be a matter of time.” Rohan spoke over Frank’s confusion, his brows knitted together. “Men like Azeroth Heron don’t often bring good news with them.” 

Frank shook his head, even more bewildered. “Why does everyone talk about that guy like I should know who he is?” He wondered aloud. 

“Because you should.” Rohan said simply, hurrying to strap the last saddle onto its stand and then lock the horses back into their stalls. “Azeroth Heron is famous in the city. He’s tortured and killed more witches than any hunter before him, and I daresay any that may come since.”

Frank followed Rohan out of the stables, still none the wiser. 

“Why would I know that?” He scoffed, though he couldn’t help but think guiltily of the books beneath his bed. “It’s not like I ever go to the city.”

Rohan considered this for a moment, but still didn’t look convinced as he mumbled, “no… I suppose not.” 

As they followed the castle wall towards the nearest entrance, Frank’s heart began to race. Rohan had a stony, anxious sort of look on his face that was entirely at odds with his normally cheerful nature. There was no reason that Frank could think of for them to both be asked to go to the banquet hall, and he found himself hoping that they’d been roped in to help lay the tables for dinner or something.

“Frank,” Rohan said quietly as they reached the heavy, wooden door of the hunters entrance, “I’ve met Heron before, and he is not a man to cross.” Rohan held his arm across the door, blocking Frank’s way and looking down at him with such a serious expression that he made Frank’s stomach turn to ice. “Should you run into him at all whilst he’s here, you would do well to remember that.” 

Frank opened his mouth to respond, and realised he didn’t know what to say. His jaw hung slack for a moment, but then Rohan was pushing him through the door and into a surprisingly busy corridor, and his chance to think of anything had gone.

It seemed as though all the staff of the castle were heading to the banquet hall, and Frank could do nothing but walk beside Rohan, letting the stream of people carry them along to where they needed to be.

As soon as they walked through the servants entrance into the large space, it became clear very quickly that all of the staff _were_ actually heading there too. Dozens of them were already lined up around the walls, looking uneasily at one another and whispering behind their hands, creating a sound like dry leaves skittering across a stone floor.

“What is going on?” Frank whispered to Rohan, his pulse quickening even more as the two of them stood in line with the others, their backs to the wall.

Frank didn’t think he’d ever seen all of the servants and attendants standing in a room like this before. He had never considered just how many of them there were, but even the banquet hall which was designed to accommodate hundreds of guests, was not large enough for all of them to line it’s walls. Eventually they had to stand one in front of the other, and Frank found himself getting pushed into the front line, since he was short.

The servants who worked within the castle itself all made it to the hall first, and then gradually, the other stable hands, smiths and carpenters trickled in. The master hunter was the last to enter, wearing nothing but his billowing undertunic and knee length braies. He was looking extremely unimpressed, and Frank imagined he had probably just been interrupted from washing away the sweat and dirt of the hunt.

At the head of the room, there was a raised dais with a smaller table upon it. This was the Queen’s dining table, and already it had golden plates and goblets laid out over half of it. The rest were all stacked at one end; a job left unfinished.

“Is there anyone missing?” The messenger who had come to the stables was standing on the dais, frowning as he looked about the sea of faces. There was no hope of him knowing if everyone was present or not, but when nobody called out to say someone was missing, he nodded as if satisfied, and dashed down the length of the banquet hall to throw open the main doors.

In the otherwise silent room, the messengers dainty silk slippers made an amusing _pitter-patter_ sound on the stone floor. Frank smirked to himself, but his amusement was not shared. Everyone else looked terribly somber.

The messenger whispered something to the steward outside, and then dashed away to join the others against the wall. The ridiculous display was then completed by the steward stepping through the door and declaring in his loudest voice, 

“Her Majesty the Queen and Her honoured guest, Azeroth Heron.” The steward bowed low, setting the example for everyone else to follow as the queen entered the room.

Frank stared, amazed, as Her Royal Highness stepped through the doors with the black clad Heron at her side. Close behind them were the queen’s ladies in waiting, seven altogether, including Jamia. Frank caught her eye for a split second, and then remembered himself and quickly fell forward into a bow.

The Queen looked at no one, treading lightly down the banquet hall towards the dais. Frank glanced up at her through his lashes as she passed, and found himself remarking on how young she was. He saw her so rarely, he sometimes forgot that she was only two years older than himself and Jamia. Her royal gowns and heavy jewels made her look even younger; a child with a throne.

Beside her, Azeroth Heron looked like a great black vulture. His robes could have opened up and become gigantic wings and Frank wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. It made his skin crawl to see the way he stood so close to the Queen, his pale skin almost touching hers.

“My loyal household.” The Queen addressed them once she had seated herself comfortably on the dais, her throne-like chair pulled in front of the table. All her ladies-in-waiting sat down on the steps around her, and Frank thought their gowns made them look like a pretty bunch of flowers. “I thank you all for assembling here on such short notice. You shall not be kept long from your duties. For those of you who do not know my distinguished guest, Azeroth Heron is a renowned witch hunter, and has offered his services to fight the plight that plagues our lands.”

The Queen spoke with a formal stiffness, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn’t look at Azeroth as she spoke, nor anyone else, and instead kept her gaze fixed steadily on the door she had entered by. 

“Thank you, your majesty.” Azeroth turned towards the Queen in a half bow, and then promptly straightened up again. When he next spoke, he addressed the gathered staff. “I apologise for calling you all here, but it is imperative that I begin my investigation right here, in the heart of the kingdom.” He smiled in a sickly sweet sort of way, and Frank was sure that he felt the milk in his belly curdle. Azeroth Heron had a thin, reedy sort of voice, and yet it carried so effortlessly across the large space. 

“As I am sure you are all aware, there have now been six witch hangings in this town alone in the past year, and countless accusations. The High Priest has tasked me with hunting down the witch - or witches - in this kingdom, and bringing them to justice.” 

Azeroth Heron gazed around the room, slowly taking in each and every one of the faces looking back at him. Frank got the impression that the man was in his element, taking control and dominating the room, even with the Queen herself sitting beside him. 

“But,” Azeroth held up one skinny finger, a grin pulling at his thin lips, “in order to carry out my job, I must first be absolutely certain that I operate from a place of safety.” He spread his hands out wide to indicate, Frank assumed, the castle at large. “Which is why I have asked for you all to be brought here today. I should like to meet each and every one of you, introduce myself, and rest assured… if there is a witch amongst you, I shall find them.” He paused for a long second, and then began to laugh as if he had told a joke. A few weak chuckles echoed around the room from other people, but they all sounded nervous.

Frank glanced behind himself at Rohan, his face pale. It seemed ludicrous that anyone should be accused of witchcraft here, and Frank half expected someone to say as such; but no one, not even Rohan or Two Beard, made a sound.

A minute that felt like a year passed by in silence, whilst Azeroth gazed around at them all, his eyes slowly narrowing. He looked like a lizard regarding its prey, his eyes lazy and disinterested, but his body poised to strike without warning.

“Now.” Azeroth spoke out suddenly, his voice loud and stern, and Frank nearly jumped out of his skin. “Ladies,” Azeroth turned to smile at the ladies-in-waiting, “if you would please join the others.”

The Queen, who had been sitting meekly through all of this, suddenly looked at Azeroth in alarm. Her blue eyes went wide, and her lips parted. “You can’t possibly mean you suspect-”

“Oh but I do.” Azeroth interrupted the Queen - _the Queen_ \- as though she were a mere foolish girl, and not a single person stopped him. There were guards at the doors and a dozen men in the room who could surely overpower Azeroth, and yet no one said a word. It made Frank feel even sicker, but then… he didn’t say anything either. 

“I suspect _everyone_ your majesty.” Azeroth told her pleasantly. “I’m sure you have no objections. After all, I do this for your safety as well as mine.” 

Frank looked at the Queen, his eyes wide. He waited for her to scoff and tell Azeroth that he was a vile little man and she would have nothing more to do with him. She had to say it, she simply _had_ to, surely she was as repulsed by him as Frank was?

But the Queen didn’t say it. She didn’t say anything.

“Ladies?” Azeroth went on smiling at the ladies-in-waiting, quirking one dark eyebrow at them. A heartbeat passed, but then one of the ladies stood, and the rest immediately followed.

Frank scowled and clenched his teeth together so hard they felt like they might crack. He couldn’t stand watching Jamia rise to her feet and sheepishly step down to huddle with the rest of the staff by the wall. She was holding the hands of the other women, and she looked small and frightened in a way that Frank hadn’t seen her since they’d been children. He ached to go to her and hold her; wished he had the courage to snap at Azeroth Heron himself. But though Frank was no coward, there was something cold and frightening about the hunter that made him bite his tongue.

“Wonderful.” Azeroth himself was looking more and more pleased by the minute. “Now, please feel free to talk amongst yourselves whilst I make my rounds.”

This proposal was met with tense silence and a few uneasy glances. Nobody seemed brave enough to speak, and they all remained quiet as Azeroth crossed over to the left side of the room and began to slowly walk along the line of staff, his hands clasped behind his back.

He walked with exaggerated steps, one foot gradually moving in front of the other. He gazed into the faces of the assembled servants; first the chambermaids, then the coal-hands; then the tailors and washer-women; the carpenters and the stable hands, and then, gradually, Frank and Rohan.

Frank felt his blood run cold as Azeroth’s dark, empty eyes looked into his own. The man faltered, pausing in his steps which had been so consistent so far, and paused a little longer than he had with anyone else. His eyes flicked up to Rohan, holding there for a beat, and then slid back down to Frank.

Frank held his gaze with as much courage as he could muster, hoping that his rabbiting pulse was not visible in his neck. He thought wildly of the books beneath his bed - books he could not read but had no doubt were full of magical texts that would damn him in an instant. He thought of how he had begged Jamia to teach him how to read them, and he thought of Master Way, in his funny little cottage, and how he would be hanged as well if Azeroth Heron found out he had been the one to lend Frank the books in the first place.

All of this rushed through his head in the tick of a single second. He stared at Azeroth, at those awful black eyes, and blinked.

In Frank’s mind, he pictured a pair of dangling feet, twitching and kicking above muddy ground. He saw blue silk skirts, and felt his heart stop beating for just a moment -

And then Azeroth sniffed and turned away.

Frank inhaled sharply, and realised he had been holding his breath the whole time. His heart picked up again, even more frantic than before, and a cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. His eyes sought out Jamia, and he sighed with relief when she noticed his gaze and offered him a weak sort of smile.

Azeroth continued his way around the room, but Frank was barely paying attention now. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a moment. Behind him, Rohan gently touched his shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort.

It seemed that Frank was not the only person to be so affected by the witch hunter. Several women were left shaking after Azeroth had stopped to stare at them, and some of the men looked a little grey after being confronted with those dark eyes.

Several times Azeroth went so far as to ask a person their name and station, but he never lingered in one spot for long.

When he walked past the blacksmiths, Frank almost hoped he would pause at Two Beard - confident that if he did, Two Beard would have something to say - but Azeroth barely glanced at him, or any other smith. Instead, he ploughed straight on to the kitchen team, regarding each of them carefully.

“You,” He paused at one of the young women who helped wash and prepare the produce from the gardens; she was young, Frank guessed no older than fifteen, and looked utterly terrified. “What is your name, girl?”

The girl looked anxiously about her, but when no one seemed likely to rescue her, she timidly replied, “E - Emma sir.” 

Azeroth looked her over for a moment, his face cold and stern. “And your position?” He asked eventually, nodding when the girl told him. “How long have you been in service here child?”

Emma’s eyes were large and frightened as she answered, “seven months sir.” It was the most Azeroth had asked anyone so far, and no one seemed to have any doubt that this could not lead to anything good. 

“Seven months.” Azeroth repeated, frowning now, as if he were trying to work something out. “Step forward.” He suddenly demanded, moving back to give Emma room.

The whole hall was silent now, everyone watching with bated breath as Emma hesitated and then slowly stepped forward. She hunched in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso as if she could protect herself that way, and shuffled forward another couple of steps when Azeroth beckoned her to do so.

“Emma,” Azeroth began to circle her slowly, regarding her the whole time like she were some great puzzle, “do you fornicate with demons, girl?”

A few gasps rippled around the room and Frank felt his heart drop into his stomach. Emma looked terrified, all the colour draining from her face and lips so that she began to look more like a ghost than a girl. She stared around the room, trying to catch someone’s eye, and Frank saw that tears were beginning to cloud her vision.

“N - N - No sir! No I s - swear!” Emma’s voice had taken on a shrill note and Frank almost stepped forward to try and aid her, but Rohan’s hand tightened on his shoulder, holding him back.

“No?” Azeroth spoke loudly, his reedy voice echoing around the hall in a way that seemed unnatural. “No, you don’t? Then why do you reek of demons, girl? Why can I sense evil all around you? Why can I sense it _in_ you?” 

Emma, along with everyone else, was speechless. Her mouth hung open but she made no sound, and her tears began to fall thick and fast down her cheeks. She clasped her hands over her heart, and began to tremble all over as she shook her head silently from side to side. 

“I feared there may be a witch within your ranks when first I came here.” Azeroth sounded like an angry schoolmaster about to discipline his pupils, “but I hoped that I was wrong.”

“I’m n - not a witch!” Emma gasped, her voice thick with tears. “P - Please sir! I b - beg of you-”

“Silence witch!” Azeroth pointed a long, accusing finger in her face. “Say one more word to deceive us and it shall be your last!”

“This is madness.” Frank whispered before he could stop himself. Luckily, a dozen other people were muttering to themselves as well, so Azeroth didn’t notice him. 

“Sir,” he did notice the Queen though and he turned to look at her as she rose to her feet, her face almost as pale as Emma’s, “I must ask you not to threaten the girl so. She is in my employ and until you can offer some proof that-”

“Proof?” Azeroth snapped, cutting over the Queen as he had before. “If I were you, your majesty, I should mind my tongue. I have been sent here because the High Priest feared you did not have enough control over this blight on your lands, and now I find a witch within your very household.” Azeroth moved slowly towards the Queen, his head lowered and shoulders forward like a stalking cat. “If I were you, I would allow me to do my job, lest anyone suspect you of deliberately aiding this creature.” Azeroth pointed at Emma again.

The silence in the room was even thicker than before. It was almost something solid, thick enough to drown them all. The only thing that cut through it were the shrill sobs that made Emma shake. 

“But, I am not an unreasonable man.” Azeroth straightened up suddenly and reached into his robes. “If this girl be a witch, you can rest assured that there is some evidence I can provide.” Azeroth slid a thin, black case from out of his robes and lay it in the palm of one hand. He lifted the lid slowly and ran his finger over whatever lay inside. 

“Almost all witches will bear a witches mark.” He said calmly, taking his time to consider the insides of the case, before plucking something from within. Frank couldn’t see what it was at first, not until Azeroth held it up to the light and turned to show them all. 

“A witches mark,” he said loudly, “does not bleed when pricked.” Clasped between two fingers he held a golden instrument, similar to a barber’s scalpel but with a needle in place of the blade. “If this girl has such a mark, will that be sufficient evidence for you, your majesty?”

The Queen didn’t answer right away. She looked uneasily around the room at the hundreds of faces gazing back at her, and then at the terrified eyes of Emma. Frank could see her jaw was tense, her eyes full of uncertainty and fear. It felt as though an eternity passed before she gave one, curt nod. 

“Then I must ask you, Emma, to disrobe.” Azeroth whirled back round to face the girl, his needle still held high. “If you have no witches mark, then you need not fear.”

Emma shook her head, her lips trembling. She had hunched over even more, as if she hoped she might disappear altogether if she could only curl herself up small enough. 

“I said disrobe girl,” Azeroth lowered his voice into a deadly growl, “or I shall have your clothes torn from you.”

“Sir,” The Queen spoke up again, her voice hushed, “surely we can conduct this test somewhere more private?”

“Absolutely not.” Azeroth scoffed at the very idea. “I shall have no one left doubting what I say is true. Now disrobe _girl_ , or I shall force you!”

“It’s alright,” the Queen’s voice shook as she spoke to Emma directly, her face full of pain and guilt, “don’t be afraid, dear Emma. Do as he says, and this shall all be over soon.”

Emma stared at the Queen, her sobs growing louder and louder. For a moment it looked as though she still might refuse, but then she slowly unclasped her hands and began to pick at the laces of her bodice. 

Frank turned his eyes away, his jaw set and angry tears pricking at his eyes. He noticed that many others had also turned their faces away, trying to give the girl some privacy, and those who still looked, did so with an air of someone who was simply unable to look away.

Emma’s sobs were loud and shaky by the time she had unlaced the entire front of her kirtle. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and then eased the skirt down her thighs. Once it reached her knees, it fell the rest of the way to the floor and lay there in a heap of brown wool.

“P - Please sir, I’m not a witch…” She tried to plead with Azeroth, but the man could not be moved. 

“The chemise as well.” He said simply, nodding at her undergarments. “You may dress again promptly if no mark is found.” 

Emma lowered her head, choking on her tears as she gathered the material of her chemise in her hands and slowly pulled it over her head. Frank couldn’t help but glance at her, barely believing this was really happening. He caught a glimpse of her bony knees and the curve of her ribs, but quickly averted his gaze once more the moment he noticed her pink nipples.

Once the chemise had been dropped to the floor as well, Azeroth began to slowly circle her. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing and sniffling so violently that her chest heaved with the force of it. She pressed her legs tight together, her knees slightly bent as though she were fighting against the urge to collapse.

Frank looked up, unable to keep his eyes away when Emma was left standing nude for so long. Azeroth was taking his time in regarding her, and Frank wanted to scream at him to hurry up. He almost did, but then Azeroth found what he was looking for.

“Just as I thought.” He breathed, coming to a halt behind Emma. He touched a hand to her back, directly between her shoulder blades, and scowled as though disgusted. “A witches mark, just as I said there would be.” 

Frank and everyone else leaned forward to try and see. When Azeroth noticed their interest, he grabbed Emma roughly by the arm and began to turn her this way and that, holding one hand beneath a dark freckle on her back. 

“You see?” He demanded, glaring at them all as if daring them to argue. “A true witches mark does not bleed when pricked!” He brandished the golden needle, letting them all see it clearly once more, and then plunged it into Emma’s back.

Frank flinched, expecting a scream, but Emma’s sobs didn’t change. She was looking at them all with wide, wet eyes, but seemed completely unaware of the needle between her shoulders. Frank felt his jaw go slack, and his eyes go wide as Azeroth beckoned to the Queen.

“Come, your majesty, and see clearly how I do not lie.” 

The Queen was looking as astounded as everyone else. She tripped to her feet without hesitation and drifted to Azeroth’s side. 

The watching audience grew tense and quiet, awaiting her verdict. Frank watched her carefully, watched the way she leaned in close to Emma’s back and got a good look at the needle. It was pressed so deeply into her flesh that only the handle remained visible, and when Azeroth slowly drew it back, revealing the needle inch by agonizing inch, the Queen’s face became more and more ashen.

“By the Gods,” she gasped, one hand fluttering to her throat as the needle came away completely clean, “not a drop of blood.” 

This exclamation was met with a long second of disbelief, and then the room erupted into a frenzy. 

“WITCH!”

“WITCH!”

“SHE’S A WITCH!”

“BURN HER!

“HANG HER!”

“ _NO!_ ” Emma lost her voice for a moment, but when she found it again she screamed louder than any of them. “NO! I SWEAR! I SWEAR I’M NOT A WITCH!”

Her words were ignored, and Frank huffed in pain as he was suddenly shoved aside by a dozen people rushing to get at Emma. They were all shouting and screaming, and Azeroth simply stood aside and let them grab at her. 

“Frank! Frank, here lad!” Rohan battled his way against the rioting crowd and grabbed at Frank’s hand, pulling him steadily away from the stampede. “Come with me boy, let’s get out of here.”

Frank obeyed without question, letting Rohan pull him along the wall towards the main doors. As they barged their way up the stairs towards them, he thought of Jamia and tried to turn back. The room was in chaos, everyone fighting to get at Emma who could no longer be seen beneath the mass of bodies. Azeroth, somehow, kept his feet and towered over them all. 

Right at the back of the room, on the dais, Frank saw Jamia and the other ladies-in-waiting gathered around the Queen, protecting her as they ushered her towards the servants door at the back of the hall. 

“Jamia-!”

“She’s fine lad!” Rohan gave Frank’s arm a yank and forced him through the doors. “Let’s go!”

Frank pulled back, taking one last look at the banquet hall and the mass of people who had all seemed so meek and fearful just a few short moments ago, and then followed Rohan out into the empty corridor beyond.


	3. Flowers for protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are still with me! This fic has definitely taken a darker turn than I thought it would, especially so early, but things lighten up a little here. 
> 
> This fic is turning into something completely different to anything I've ever done. It's terrifying to write because I just don't know if people will like it; but this story is in me and it simply has to come out. I have no idea if anyone is even still reading, but if you are, I thank you, and hope you will continue down this path with me.
> 
> xo

Frank was tending to the heart fire, leaning all of his weight onto the handles of a ginormous pair of bellows to blast oxygen into the furnace and feed the inferno within. He grunted as he worked, sweating from the effort of working the bellows. He didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone until he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, but as he straightened up he noticed a figure in a hooded cloak watching him and his heart gave a mighty lurch. 

“Who-” Frank began to speak, but the figure stepped closer and dropped back their hood in a rush. “ _Jamia?_ ” Frank dropped his head back, dizzy with relief, and stood panting for a moment. “By the Gods, you nearly gave me a heart atta-oomph!” Frank stumbled as Jamia suddenly embraced him, their bodies colliding with force.

Jamia didn’t say a word, but Frank could hear her soft sniffles as she hid her face in his chest. She felt ever so small in his arms, her body gone soft and slender as she grew older in the castle. When she’d worked the stables, her biceps had been as strong as Frank’s… Well, almost. But now she was tender like a bird.

“What’s the matter?” Frank asked softly, tucking his chin over the top of her head and rubbing her back soothingly. He twisted them around slowly and awkwardly lifted one leg so he could slam the furnace door shut with his foot. 

“What’s the matter?” Jamia repeated, her voice muffled by Frank’s tunic. “How can you even ask me that?” 

Frank grimaced, annoyed with himself. “Course… Sorry.” He held her tighter and didn’t say anything more until Jamia took it upon herself to end their embrace. 

When she pulled back, Frank could see tears glistening in her eyes. Even in the dim light of the forge, he could see that her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her face blotchy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so upset. 

“The girl, Emma-”

“She’s dead.” Jamia answered before Frank could even ask. “Killed by the mob.” 

“The mob.” Frank repeated dully, thinking - as he had been all evening - of the servants who had surged around the girl before Rohan had dragged him away. _Mob_ made them sound like strangers; like some unstoppable force rather than the people they had worked with since they’d been children. _Mob_ suited them perfectly. 

“Was she hanged?” Frank hadn’t heard that another hanging had taken place. But then, he had been trying to avoid all talk of the afternoons events, throwing himself into his work in the forge with a gusto that was unusual. “Burned?”

“No, Gods, no.” Jamia shook her head roughly, squeezing her eyes shut as if it was too much to bear thinking about. “Everyone was trying to drag her in all directions, and she fell.” Jamia’s tears began to swell again, threatening to overflow as her lower lip trembled. “Oh it was awful… She dashed her head against the steps to the dais a - and-” Jamia couldn’t finish, and Frank pulled her firmly back into his arms so that she didn’t even try. He didn’t need her to describe the way Emma’s head would have been cracked open like an egg’s upon the sharp edge of the steps; he could envision it perfectly already, making his stomach swirl.

He held Jamia for a long moment again, both of them lost in their own thoughts. It seemed a lifetime ago when Frank had gone to see Master Way and had been spellbound by the chaos of his cottage, taking the basket of books with such determination. Could it really have been just that morning? 

“Anyway.” Jamia pulled back, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to talk about Emma or that awful witch hunter. I came here to help you with your reading.”

Frank blinked, taken aback. Jamia had that stubborn look on her face that he loved so much, but he still felt unsure. 

“I thought you said we’d start tomorrow?” He reminded her gently. 

“I did.” Jamia agreed, holding her chin up high to try and make herself appear strong. “But I asked the Queen if I may be excused from going to the temples with her tonight, and she agreed.” Jamia’s face began to grow shadowed again. “I didn’t even have to make any excuses… Azeroth is going with her, and I think if the Queen herself could refuse to go, she would.”

Frank didn’t entirely know how to respond to that, and so he didn’t. Jamia regarded him for a moment, and then, as if making her mind up about something, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him across the forge to his little room.

“Let’s get started.” She said firmly. “Reading takes a long time to learn, so if you’re serious about it then we shouldn’t stand around wasting time.” Jamia sounded so bossy that it made Frank grin and for the first time since that afternoon he felt some of the weight on his chest lift. 

“Yes ma’am.” He said seriously, earning a light thump to his shoulder. “Did you bring a book?” He could clearly see that she hadn’t, but he still wondered if perhaps she was hiding one beneath her cloak. He certainly wasn’t about to reveal the stash beneath his bed; not when Azeroth Heron was still in the country. 

“Of course not.” Jamia gave Frank a withering look, as though he was being deliberately stupid. “You have to learn your alphabet first.” Jamia sat down on the straw mattress of the bed and pulled the bow of her cloak loose. The ribbons unravelled neatly and the cloak slipped down her shoulders and onto the bed. Frank was glad to see she was no longer wearing the blue dress, but something far more plain.

“Okay.” Frank went about the room, lighting the dozens of candles that were clustered in the corners. He had a tendency to hoard candles, and now whenever a candle had burned down too low for the castle, he was gifted it by one of the household staff. They were more than bright enough for his little room, and gave at least enough light for him to see as Jamia slipped off the bed and onto her knees.

“I’ll try and acquire a slate for you to use.” She said as she used her finger to draw symbols in the dirt of the floor. “But this will be fine for now.” 

Frank watched her with interest, cocking his head as she created the symbols so effortlessly. None of them looked terribly complicated, and some he even recognised, but he was still impressed that Jamia remembered them all with apparently no hesitation. Once she was done, she returned to the bed and patted the space beside her. 

“These are all the letters of our alphabet.” She told Frank as he sat down next to her. “These letters make up every word we speak. Once you know them all, we can start looking at books.” 

Frank smiled slightly, not so unlearned that he didn’t already know that, but he didn’t say as much. He just nodded solemnly, glad to play the idiot, because already Jamia was looking so much happier. She had always liked learning and sharing knowledge, and she was in her element as she pointed out each letter and had Frank repeat it’s sound with her. 

Once they had gone through each symbol, Jamia smiled at Frank and nodded encouragingly. “Good. Now, it may take a while, but once you’ve learned this off by heart-”

“I think I’ve got it.” Frank interrupted her, looking at the alphabet scrawled in the dirt and considering for a moment before nodding his head. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

Jamia quirked an eyebrow at Frank, amused. “Really? You’ve got it?” She repeated, her tone slightly sarcastic. 

“I think so.” Frank wasn’t sure why Jamia seemed so amused by the notion. “A,” he began, pointing at the first letter, “or ah, then B or buh, C or cuh,” Frank went on, pointing at each letter in turn and giving both the hard and soft sounds as Jamia had. Once he had made it all the way to Z, he turned his head and grinned at Jamia’s astonished look. 

“What?” He asked with a chuckle. “It’s simple enough, isn’t it?”

Jamia stared at Frank, speechless. She looked to the alphabet on the floor and back again, and when Frank just went on smiling she scowled and gave his arm another thump.

“Don’t get cocky.” She scolded him. “Just because your memory is so good. Let’s see if you remember it in the morning.”

***

Frank liked reading. 

It was far easier than he had anticipated, but he supposed it was bound to be after everyone talked about it like it was such a mystical thing. It came to him easily, as though he had always known it, he just needed someone to take the scales from his eyes.

Jamia had acquired him a slate tablet, just as she had hoped, and every night whilst Two Beard dropped into another mead induced sleep, and the Queen paid her respects to the Gods, Jamia and Frank huddled in his room together. At first, Jamia would say a letter and have Frank scratch it and the next four letters of the alphabet onto his slate. 

Two nights later, she began writing down words for him. Easy words like ‘cat’ and ‘dog’. She would have Frank write it out again beneath her own, and since he was so good at the reading and writing itself, she even lectured him on handwriting.

By the end of week one, Jamia had forgone writing out words altogether and simply had Frank do all the writing.

By week two, she was giving him words he had never been taught before, to see if he could work them out alone. Some he did, and others he struggled with, but as soon as Jamia corrected him, he would learn the new rules without difficulty. 

By day sixteen, she couldn’t even throw him off with words like gnarled or _neighbour_. And when she offered him a book - the first she had had a chance to bring to him - he read from it slowly but soundly.

“Are you sure you’ve never read before?” Jamia asked him, astonished. She had known Frank all her life, so she knew that he hadn’t, and yet it seemed impossible for him to be reading to her as he was then. And yet… he did look sheepish. 

“Of course I’m sure.” Frank said a little too quickly, hoping his guilt didn’t show on his face.

The truth was, he had been agonizingly picking his way through the books Master Way had given him for eight days by then. At first it had been awfully hard to read them, but he was starting to get the hang of it. It helped that each book was more fascinating than the last, and though Frank hadn’t read any of them from cover to cover as Master Way had requested, he was certainly looking forward to doing so.

Jamia gazed at Frank, her eyes slightly suspicious. He seemed… different, somehow. She wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before, and how long he had been steadily changing before her very eyes. She realised with a jolt that she had been viewing him as the young blacksmith he had been for so many years… but he wasn’t that anymore, was he? He was a man now. Twenty one years old come October and far more intelligent than she had ever given him credit for.

“I can teach you no more.” Jamia smiled in a sad sort of way and took one of Frank’s hands in both of her own. “Just keep reading all you can and practicing your letters. I’ll bring you a new book whenever you want.” She squeezed his fingers gently and Frank beamed at her. 

“Thanks Jay, but I’ll be fine for books.” He considered telling her about his little stash - now that Azeroth Heron was busying himself in the town more than the castle, he didn’t feel so nervous about sharing his secret - but the thought passed quickly. Azeroth was still dangerous - there had been two hangings since the day with Emma in the castle, and just because he seemed to have turned his gaze away from the palace staff for now, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t interrogate them again.

“Master Way said he would apprentice you once you could read, didn’t he?” Jamia felt her chest squeeze tight as she realised Frank must be planning to leave soon. “Are you planning to see him tomorrow?”

Frank wished he could, but he hadn’t read every book yet. 

“Probably not tomorrow…” He said slowly, though he couldn’t think up an excuse as to why not without revealing the books. “I think Azeroth is in town again tomorrow so I’d rather stay out of his way.” It was a poor reason, and made Frank feel like a coward, but it was all he could think of. 

“Well I have to go into town tomorrow to buy some silk ribbons for Her Majesty.” Jamia stood and brushed the creases from her dress, readying to leave as she did every night. “If you’d like to escort me, I’ll have the Queen request it. Then we can keep each other safe.” She flashed Frank a grin that made him chuckle. 

“Alright.” He agreed, if only so that Jamia wouldn’t have to go alone. “If the Queen asks then Two Beard can’t complain either.” 

Jamia nodded and stooped to kiss Frank’s cheek goodnight. 

“I’ll see you in the morning then. Be ready.” She told him firmly, smiling over her shoulder as she left. 

“I will.” Frank promised, shaking his head fondly as she disappeared out of his tiny room.

As soon as she was gone, Frank waited a beat and then hurried to rummage beneath his bed. He pulled out the first book that came to hand and then dragged a few candles closer. 

This ritual had been the same for him for over a week now. He settled comfortably against the wall, legs crossed beneath him, and flipped open the book. He rifled through the pages, finding the place he had last been, and then continued to read.

The book he had selected was bound in green leather and described various _‘Simple and useful charms for the witche and warlocke’_. It was one of Frank’s favourites because instead of long, difficult to read philosophies; it was full of easy to follow lists and basic instructions.

The charms themselves seemed easy enough, and Frank had been tempted to try a few. The problem was supplies… things like dead men’s teeth and rendered tallow weren’t exactly just sitting on a shelf in the forge. And some of the instructions meant nothing to him, _make the sygil for Solomon_ could just as easily have said _call upon the twelve Gods to do thou bidding_ and Frank would have been just as lost.

Though, Frank had noticed that the twelve Gods weren’t mentioned anywhere in the books at all. There were some vague references to Gods and Goddesses, but not as Frank knew them. He wasn’t sure if there was some other religion he should be aware of, but that was something he would simply have to ask Master Way.

Frank wondered whether it would hurt to go and see the man after all and ask him a few things. He considered as he flipped through the book, making a mental list of all the things he didn’t understand so far, and was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps outside his room until it was almost too late. 

“Boy!” It was Two Beard - somehow awake and sounding none the happier for it. “If you’re naked you best put some clothes on!”

This statement was met with a mere two seconds of opportunity for Frank to react. He sat bolt upright and raced to slam his book shut and launch it beneath his bed. It barrelled into the stacks of other books and caused a commotion that was only partially drowned by Two Beard slamming his door open.

“The Hunter has some questions for ya.” He declared as he strode inside, followed closely by Azeroth Heron.

Frank’s blood ran cold and his eyes widened in shock. He stared at the two men, his jaw partially slack, and went rigid with fear. 

Azeroth Heron barely glanced at him. He gazed around Frank’s room with interest, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Two Beard was looking mistrustful as well, but his eyes remained on Frank. He glared at him, his head cocked slightly to one side. He looked at each of Frank’s hands and then all over his little cot bed, but couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. 

“What you doin’ in here?” He asked gruffly. 

“Nothing.” Frank blurted out a little too quickly, drawing Azeroth’s attention to him. His cold, black eyes made Frank’s heart stop and he shrank back against the wall in fear. 

“No need to look alarmed.” Azeroth offered Frank a smile which was probably supposed to be friendly but only made Frank feel sick. “I’m only taking a walk around the castle and it’s grounds.” He began to walk around Frank’s room then, tiny though it was, scrutinising every inch of the walls and looking with interest at the stubs of candles in the corners. 

“It’s a new moon tonight.” He went on, as if this explained his sudden desire to crash Frank’s room in the dead of night. He glanced at him, as if to see how Frank reacted to this piece of news, but Frank just went on staring in confusion.

“A new moon is an important time for witches,” Azeroth explained, looking up as if he might find something interesting on the ceiling, “some spells can only be cast during this time.” 

This was news to Frank, who had not even learned as much from his books yet. Just thinking about them beneath his bed made him feel queasy and he tensed his body as he tried to stop himself from trembling. Azeroth didn’t seem to worry whether Frank minded him touching his things, and he was helping himself to the slate tablet that Frank kept close to his bed. As he stooped to pick it up, Frank went dizzy with fear. All Azeroth had to do was turn his head to the left and he’d see…

“Ferrarius. God of the forge, craftsmanship and fire.” Azeroth read from the tablet, straightening up as he did so without glancing the books barely two feet away from him. He looked at Frank, one eyebrow arched in silent question. 

“I - I’ve been l - learning to write.” Frank explained in a tiny voice. Jamia had last had him use the tablet to write out sentences from The Book of the Twelve and he couldn’t have been more relieved. Azeroth had been sent by the High Priest, so Frank suspected he was also employed by the faith.

“ _You?_ Write?” Two Beard looked furious by the revelation, but Azeroth was smiling. 

“Writing is a noble pursuit.” He told Frank in a tone that could almost have been warm. “Especially if you’re learning it through reading The Book of the Twelve. Do you have a copy?” He asked brightly, looking around for it.

“No sir!” Frank almost fell from his bed in his haste to reach out to Azeroth, terrified he would look beneath the bed and find his stash of magic books. “I -” Azeroth looked at him with some surprise, and Frank had to think fast.

“I - I implore you, kind sir-” He gasped, falling to his knees at Azeroth’s feet and holding onto the bottom of his robes, “I have no book of my own, but if… if you could spare one-”

“You little rat!” Two Beard snarled, racing to grab Frank by the scruff of the tunic and drag him away from Azeroth. “How dare you ask this man to gift you anything!”

“Enough.” Azeroth spoke softly, but immediately Two Beard fell back as though he had been struck. “As a priest, it is my duty - and pleasure - to share the wisdom of our many Gods.” He glared at Two Beard, and then smiled once more at Frank. “I have several copies of the good book. I shall have one brought to you in the morning.” 

Frank breathed a long sigh of relief and thanked Azeroth with as much gratitude as he could muster. “You are too kind.” He said breathlessly, bowing his head in respect. 

Azeroth, pleased by such a show, allowed Frank to kiss his hand - an act that almost made Frank gag - and then he took his leave. 

“I shall continue my rounds.” He said pleasantly, nodding at Frank and Two Beard. “Good evening gentlemen.”

Frank watched Azeroth go, his heart racing, and then turned his eyes nervously to Two Beard. 

“Two Beard I-”

“I don’t know what game you’re playin’ boy.” Two Boy interrupted him with a low, deadly snarl. “But if I find out you’re gettin’ into any mischief…” He trailed off, apparently speechless. He looked at the tablet which had been left beside Frank on the bed and narrowed his eyes. 

“Who you learnin’ that from?” He demanded, scowling when Frank pursed his lips. “You better tell me lad or I’ll-”

“Miss Nestor is teaching me.” Frank was too tired to listen to threats, and just as he had suspected, mentioning Jamia took all the wind out of Two Beard’s sail. He looked even more astonished for a moment, but apparently seeing a losing battle, he scoffed and turned to leave. 

“Don’t see why’d you wanna read in the first place.” He muttered angrily to himself. “S’not like you need it.” 

Frank was too wise to even think about responding. He let Two Beard go without a word and then hurried to shut the door behind him. Once he was gone he slumped down onto the floor and simply sat there for a moment, knees drawn up and his head in his hands. His fear hadn’t left him just yet, and it remained for a long time after, like an icy shroud over his shoulders.

He didn’t sleep at all that night.

***

The town was busy that morning, as it was every market day. Dozens of merchants were lining the streets trying to flog their ways, calling out to the throngs of people who clogged up the dusty roads.

Frank and Jamia walked at a leisurely pace, their arms linked so they wouldn’t be separated. True to her word, Jamia had come to the forge early that morning with a message from the Queen - Frank was to accompany her to the market, and should be expected to be gone all day. 

Two Beard hadn’t been happy about it, but he didn’t try to stop Frank who had raced past him with a gleeful smile.

The walk to the town was only a short one, since the majority of the market was set up in the wealthiest area right outside the castle walls. The merchants here sold the silk ribbons Jamia had been sent out for, but she didn’t purchase them right away. 

“I’ll get them on the way back.” She had said, and Frank hadn’t questioned her. Walking around with silk in her little basket was simply asking to be robbed. 

There was nothing else they specifically needed, but Frank had a little money to his name, and Jamia had been given a small allowance from the Queen, so they headed straight to the bakery and purchased some fresh currant buns for their breakfast.

They sat on a low wall outside a squat tavern, sucking honey off their fingers whilst Frank told Jamia about his surprise visit from Azeroth. Even just mentioning him was enough to make Frank’s pulse quicken, and Jamia too went pale. 

“Oh Gods, Frank if I’ve got you in trouble-”

“You haven’t.” Frank quickly assured her, touching her hand gently. “If anything, you got me _out_ of it. He was pleased that I was writing passages from The Book of the Twelve, and left me be after he realised it.” 

“Oh.” Jamia frowned, surprised, and not altogether relieved. “That’s good.” She said doubtfully, tearing the last of her bun to pieces. “So he doesn’t know about your deal with Master Way?”

“Gods no.” Frank shook his head quickly. “Nor Two Beard. I want to keep it a secret.” He knew that Jamia would never tell, and she smiled softly at him then with an understanding nod. 

“I won’t say anything.” She promised, sliding off the wall and brushing the creases from her skirt. “Shall we?”

Frank nodded and linked his arm through hers again, setting back off through the crowds and into the market. 

They meandered around the stalls for a while, perusing the various things for sale and chatting happily together. It was a glorious sunny day, and Frank was feeling relaxed and happy in a way he hadn’t for a long time. He was glad to be led around by his friend, and to watch as she bought herself a new comb for her hair and some spools of thread for her embroidery.

As they reached the crossroads in the centre of town, Frank pulled Jamia out of the market and in the direction of Master Way’s cottage. He sometimes had a stall at the market, but sometimes he simply sold his perfumes from his home. A little sign had been set up just outside the market with a picture of a round bottle and an arrow pointing east, so Frank hoped they wouldn’t be disturbing him this time.

“I’ve never been to Master Way’s before.” Jamia held tighter to Frank’s arm as they walked farther and farther from the main town. “I never realised he lived so out of the way.”

“I got the feeling he likes to keep to himself.” Frank shrugged, hoping his cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. He hadn’t thought twice about it during his first visit to the cottage, but now he supposed Master Way deliberately lived away from everyone else, what with being a warlock…

The cottage wasn’t so far away that the town couldn’t still be clearly seen though, and whilst no other houses were built here, Master Way had such a large and well kept garden that it didn’t look odd standing all on it’s own.

“How lovely.” Jamia smiled, loosening her grip as they walked between rows of delphinium and hydrangea. A low buzzing sound accompanied the dozens of bees that were lazily bumbling all around the garden, and Frank felt a sense of peace wash over him. 

“I’m starting to see what made you decide you wanted to be a perfumer.” Jamia giggled, giving Frank a gentle nudge. “The idea is suddenly very appealing.”

“Wait until you see Master Way.” Frank spoke without thinking, and this time he knew for sure his cheeks were burning. He coughed awkwardly and let go of Jamia’s arm, hurrying away to knock the cottage door and then push it gently open when it proved to be unlocked. 

The little bell above the door tinkled merrily, and Frank stepped inside, Jamia close behind.

As they stepped over the threshold, both of them gasped. Jamia clasped her hands over her heart with a wide smile, and Frank very nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise.

The cottage, which had been in such a state of disarray when he had last visited, was now perfectly clean and tidy. The dozens of work benches were still there, three on either side of the room, and there were still bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters, but that was it.

There were no books or bones or stained glass anywhere. The ginger cat was nowhere to be seen, and the windows were all sparkling clean, as was the floor. 

The cottage was heady with scent, but it wasn’t the pungent, complicated smell that Frank had experienced on his first visit. This time, it was light and sweet, and just a little citrusy, like gooseberry fool.

“Welcome, welcome.” Master Way appeared from a side door, carrying a tray laden with crystal bottles. “Please come in, how can I help- oh.” He fell short when he recognised Frank, and his charming smile faltered. “It’s you.”

Jamia looked between Frank and Master Way, her own smile falling slightly. 

“Good afternoon.” Frank was certain his blush was only getting worse. “Pardon the intrusion Master Way, we were just passing by this way and…” Frank didn’t really know what else to say. He couldn’t very well talk about the books with Jamia around. 

Master Way looked lost for a moment, his hazel eyes staring intently at Jamia, but then he snapped out of it and his easy smile returned. 

“There’s no intrusion, my good fellow. I am open for business, and always glad to see a new face.” He placed the tray onto one of the counters and strode straight to Jamia. “My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and bowed low, kissing her knuckles ever so gently. 

Jamia looked surprised but pleased and she laughed in a flustered, girlish kind of way that was most unlike her. Frank gave her a hard glare, but she wasn’t paying attention.

“O - Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you Master Way.” She was saying, her voice hushed and high-pitched. 

“You must work in the palace.” Master Way was still smiling gently at her. “That lace collar on your dress is from Gleyaa, gifted to her Royal Highness six years ago I believe.”

Jamia looked stunned, but she nodded without thinking. “That’s right. The Queen had a piece gifted to each of her ladies-in-waiting.”

“Ah, and so solves the mystery of who you must be.” Master Way was smiling kindly, and he spoke in a way that had Jamia giggling again. Frank almost rolled his eyes, but he didn’t want to look childish and jealous in front of Master Way. 

“I’ve always wanted to visit your shop Master Way.” Jamia told him in hushed tones, gazing around at the clean surfaces and the tray of crystal bottles. “I hear your scents are the best in the world.”

“You are too kind my lady.” Master Way looked undoubtedly pleased. “I don’t know about being the best in the _world_ , after all, we know so little of it, don’t we?” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he walked away from Jamia, picking up one of the bottles and bringing it back to her. “But I certainly take great care in my craft.” He removed the stopper from the bottle and held it up with a soft smile. “May I?”

Frank couldn’t help but drift closer as Jamia nodded and Master Way held the glass stopper to her nose. She inhaled deeply, and Frank simply had to lean in to smell too, breathing in a scent as sweet and seductive as anything he had ever experienced. It set off an itch in his mind, like a long-forgotten memory was trying to surface, and his eyes fluttered closed as he dreamed for a moment. 

“Oh my…” Jamia too went a little faint, and she swayed for a moment before Master Way pushed the stopper back into the bottle. “That… That scent… It’s so…” Jamia struggled for the words, and her hand suddenly grabbed Frank’s. “The meadow.” She suddenly blurted out, looking at him with a shine in her eyes. “Do you remember? When we were children, and we stumbled upon that meadow of wild flowers in the woods?”

“I remember.” Yes, that was it. Frank recognised the scent now; of the all the different flowers, and the sweet fresh scent of the grass at dawn. It had rained the night before, and there had been a wonderful earthy note in the air, a smell of dewdrops and fresh sky on the breeze. 

“That’s exactly what I smell.” Jamia looked between Frank and Master Way, her expression a mixture of astonishment and delight. She looked almost emotional, but Frank didn’t feel like teasing her for it. He had never realised a scent could make him feel such a lump in his own throat. 

“A good perfume should always invoke memory.” Master Way looked pleased as he put the bottle back down on the tray. “Or at the very least, should be beguiling enough to _create_ a memory. I have customers who buy the same scent every single time because it stirs so much nostalgia in them.” He looked at the bottles for a moment, smiling faintly to himself. 

“I have a new customer arriving shortly,” when he looked up again, the dreamy look had disappeared, “so I must continue preparing for their arrival. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go back through the side door, and Frank found himself rushing to follow.

“Master Way,” he blurted out, “perhaps I could help you?” He gave the man a meaningful look, trying to tell him without words that he must speak with him. Master Way looked at him over his shoulder, and Frank was relieved that somehow his message seemed to be received loud and clear and without difficulty. 

“How kind.” Master Way said flatly before turning his charming smile to Jamia. “We will be but a moment my dear, but perhaps you would stay here and assure my guest I’ll be with them quickly if they arrive early?”

Jamia didn’t even hesitate before nodding, all too glad to help. “Certainly sir.” She said brightly, thinking immediately that perhaps she might be able to quickly smell the scents in the other bottles too whilst Master Way was out of the room.

Master Way thanked her and then led Frank through the side door, which took them into a room that was not small but appeared to be so due to the aisles and aisles of shelves. Frank had to walk sideways to pass Master Way, who had paused just inside the door and was beckoning for him to move along. 

Way then closed the door gently and passed his hand over it in a bizarre motion. Frank thought he saw the door shimmer for a moment, but he couldn’t be certain. 

“Alright.” Master Way turned to him then, his face set. “What is it you want to tell me?”

Frank blinked stupidly for a moment, thrown by the casual way he was being spoken to. Master Way didn’t even bother to lower his voice, as if he had no fear of them being overheard. 

“Oh, I…” Frank hesitated and then hurried to snap out of his stupor. “I wanted to tell you that I can read now.” He paused a beat, waiting to see what Master Way would say, but when the other man simply stared at him, Frank continued. “I haven’t read every single book, but I’m working on it. Only I… I’m worried about keeping the books at the castle with me. There’s this man and-”

“Hold on a moment.” Way stopped him with a wave his hand, his eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown. “Do you mean for me to believe that you have learned to read? In…” He thought for a moment, tutting to himself. “Less than three weeks?”

Frank nodded, confused. “Yes sir.” He wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to think this unusual. “It’s not so difficult once you know how. And like I said, I haven’t read all of the books yet but I will-”

“Wait wait wait.” Master Way interrupted him again, waving both hands now. “You have learned to read, to _read_ , in less than three weeks?”

“Yes.” Frank huffed, impatient. “Jamia taught me.” Frank nodded at the door to indicate who he meant. “But there’s a problem-”

“Read this.” Master Way wasn’t listening and Frank couldn’t help but growl as he was forced to follow him along the lines of shelves. Master Way grabbed an item at random and passed it to Frank. It was a small wooden box, with a hand written label attached. Frank turned the label over, squinting at it in the dim light. 

“Uh… Ash of oak.” He read slowly. When this proved to be perplexing, he turned the box around, looking for anything more illuminating, but Master Way snatched it from him and returned it to the shelf. 

“When you told me that you couldn’t read, did you mean _at all?_ ” He asked sharply. “Or were you exaggerating?”

“I meant what I said.” Frank snapped back, irritated. “I couldn’t read. And now I can. You _told_ me to learn, and I have. But there’s a problem-”

“But that’s impossible-”

“There’s a _problem_.” Frank refused to be interrupted this time and simply raised his voice to talk over Master Way. “A witch hunter has been sent to the castle and he almost found your books last night.”

“What!?” Now he had Way’s attention. The man was looking horrified, his face suddenly pale and his eyes wide. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

“I was trying to!” Frank threw his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve been trying to tell you - the man is a _monster_. He has had three women killed already, and if he had found those books last night I fear he would have killed me too.” Frank’s anger left him as quickly as it had come, replaced once more by fear. “I cannot keep your books at the castle anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

“The castle…” Master Way was looking nervous, but also annoyed. “You didn’t tell me you worked at the castle. You said you were a blacksmith.”

“I work in the royal forge.” Frank sighed heavily, hating the guilty pang he felt in his stomach; as if he had deliberately withheld this information, when he was certain he had tried to tell Master Way as much during his first visit. “I’m an apprentice there, but I _want_ to be _your_ apprentice.”

Master Way considered Frank for a moment, his eyes raking over him in the dim room. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “I shall collect the books immediately. You will not have to worry about them anymore.” He went to move past Frank, but Frank jerked into action and hurried to block his way. 

“So… So does that mean you’ll apprentice me?” He asked eagerly, already knowing the answer. 

“No.” It still felt like a slap to the face to hear it. “I told you to read them all cover to cover, and you haven’t. That was the deal.” Master Way tried to pass him again, but Frank refused to budge. 

“That’s not fair. If it wasn’t for Azeroth Heron then I wouldn’t need to return them so soon.” Frank’s palms were sweating, an icy feeling of desperation making him tremble. “If my choice is to read them or give up on being your apprentice, then I beg you to let me keep them a little longer. I will read them as fast as I can, and pray that Azeroth never sees them.”

“I don’t think so.” Master Way laughed mirthlessly and sidled his way around Frank, somehow managing to slip past him even as Frank spread his arms and legs to block the walkway.

“Master Way, please!” Frank whirled around and raced after him, grabbing at his shirt without thinking. 

“Enough!” Master Way turned and slapped Frank’s hand away. “Do you not take a hint boy? I do not _want_ an apprentice! You had your chance, and you have been unable to fulfil the deal.”

“No!” Frank plunged his hands into his hair, overcome with horror. “You cannot do this to me! I have learned to read, just as you asked! And I shall read those books if it’s the last thing I do! I will do anything you ask of me sir, just name your task and I shall do it!”

“Stop.” Master Way suddenly touched Frank’s wrists, pulling his hands gently out of his hair. The touch of his fingers was like lightning on Frank’s skin and he gasped as he fell forward, colliding heavily with Way’s chest. 

The two of them stumbled, and in his surprise, Master Way circled his arms around Frank, steadying him. Once they regained their footing, it was to find Frank with his face in Way’s shirt, shaking violently all over. He knew he should stand up and step away, but Master Way smelt like leather and cedar and salt, and Frank was utterly bewitched. He wanted to simply bury his face in his shirt and remain there for eternity.

“Please.” He whispered, his voice muffled against Way’s chest. “Please… I beg of you… Please…”

Master Way squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply. A painful rock seemed to have settled in his stomach. He wanted to push the boy away and tell him to leave, but something in him wouldn’t let him. It was maddening, and yet he couldn’t seem to control it. 

“I will not have my books in the castle with a witch hunter around.” He said at last, tightening his hold on Frank without really meaning to. “But… But if you can prove to me your worth…” Master Way closed his eyes, barely able to believe what he was saying. “If you can bring to me some magical object, something you have sought out or even charmed yourself - anything that demonstrates you have even a breath of magical ability, then…” He groaned, rolling his eyes as he ground out through clenched teeth, “then, I will apprentice you.”

Frank slowly lifted his chin, his eyes gone wide and shiny with unshed tears. He looked sceptical for a moment, and his trembling only eased a tiny bit. “Do you… really mean that?” He asked doubtfully. “No more tricks?”

Master Way scowled, unimpressed. “I never trick.” He snapped. “I am giving you a second chance, that’s all. If you fail this time - and I don’t care the reason - you must promise to stop harassing me.”

Frank didn’t think _harassing_ was a fair assessment of what he had been doing, but he agreed anyway. 

“I promise.” 

Master Way gave one, curt nod, and then let Frank go. He was looking a little flustered, and he frowned as he brushed out his shirt and grabbed another tray of bottles off a nearby shelf. 

“Here. Bring these through.” He said bluntly before leading the way back out into the main room of the cottage.

Jamia was hovering by the window, smiling as she gazed out over the garden. She turned at the sound of the door and came closer to look at the tray Frank placed beside the first on the counter. 

“I’m sorry you have to rush away so soon.” Master Way said to Frank pointedly, as if continuing a conversation they had been having. “Do come by again if you can.” 

Frank, who was bright pink in the face, only nodded silently. 

Jamia quirked an eyebrow at them, an uncertain smile playing about her lips. She knew Frank well enough to recognise that look on his face.

“Are we leaving?” She asked him, disappointed. 

“Yes. We have lots to do.” Frank was almost glad to be going. He could still smell Master Way’s personal scent all over him, and it was making him feel both hot and cold all at once. He was sure his cheeks would be red for days. 

“Oh.” Jamia allowed her disappointment to show, but didn’t argue. “Oh well, it was lovely to meet you Master Way.” She said sincerely, turning to clasp his hands. “I hope I may see you again sometime.”

“As do I, my lady.” Way bowed his head and gave Jamia’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Please, take this with you.” He turned and picked up a bottle from one of the trays. He lifted the stopper, held the bottle to his nose, and apparently deciding he had chosen the right one, replaced the top and handed it to Jamia with a very serious look on his face. 

“Oh! Master Way, I couldn’t take this.” Jamia gasped, though it was clear she really wanted to. “It must be so expensive.”

“I insist.” Master Way’s eyes had an almost frightening intensity to them. “It will suit you perfectly. Please… wear it daily, and should your mistress remark upon it, you will tell her my name, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Jamia placed the bottle into the basket on her arm, her face flushed with joy. “Thank you Master Way.”

“Please,” Way’s eyes flicked from her to Frank, where they lingered for a moment, “call me Gerard.”


	4. To invoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long guys! Things have been MENTAL at work since the country went into lock down. Anyone on my Tumblr will already know I have been working every day for the past millenia, but happily I've finally managed to get this chapter finished!
> 
> I promise I'm still around, but updates might be slow for a little while. Please stick with me and know that I adore you all <3

By the time Frank returned to the forge, the books had gone.

He glanced under his bed only out of habit, having gotten used to checking on the books every time he entered his room, and when he realised they were missing he fell to his knees in surprise. At first, fear gripped him like an icy hand and he shoved his torso beneath the bed, swiping his hands over the dirt floor as if the books might be hiding in the shadows; but of course they weren’t.

Panic settled in, hot and fast, and he thought immediately of Azeroth Heron and what he would do to Frank if he had found the books. But then he remembered that Azeroth was in the town still - he had seen him himself, stood in the town square and ranting about witches to a watching crowd - and if Two Beard had found the books, he wouldn’t have simply snapped at Frank to _get back to work_ when he’d seen him return.

Frank shuffled back out from beneath the bed and then sat up on his haunches, thinking.

_“I shall collect the books immediately.”_ That’s what Master Way - _Gerard_ \- had said. Frank had thought he meant he would come to the castle that day, or perhaps send someone else in his place, but now he realised that when Master Way said _immediately_ , he meant it.

Frank’s jaw dropped and he flopped onto his front again, staring beneath his bed with amazement this time. It was utterly impossible to imagine that the books had simply… disappeared. How could they simply dissolve from his floor and reappear in Master Way’s cottage? Even for magic, that must be a tall order.

Frank felt a smile start to pull at his lips and he sat back up in a daze. If Master Way could make books do that, then what else could he do? Clearly much more than the simple charms he had read about so far.

Wondering about it reminded Frank of his new challenge, and his excitement began to wane. 

_“Bring to me some magical object. Something you have sought out or even charmed yourself…”_

Frank’s shoulders sagged. Where could he possibly find a magical object? And as for charming something, he wouldn’t even know where to begin, and now he didn’t even have the books to help him... Master Way said he never _tricked_ , but Frank thought asking for something so impossible was a cruel trick indeed.

Frank rose from the floor and flopped down onto his bed, covering his eyes with the back of one hand. He thought and thought until his head ached, and still was none the wiser. He tried to remember everything he had had the chance to read, but even the most simplest charms he had come across had required ingredients that he didn’t even know where to find. 

And as for finding something that was already magical…

Frank’s mind turned to Master Way and his cheeks went hot. 

Master Way was magical, Frank was certain of that. And his scent… Frank’s eyes closed as he remembered the way it had felt to have his face buried in Gerard’s shirt, and the smell of ocean and leather that had wrapped around him as firmly as Gerard’s arms.

“ _Call me Gerard_.” 

Frank’s tummy went all funny and his blush crept down to his neck. 

Gerard.

_Gerard_.

There was something so familiar about it.

“ _Bring to me some magical object.”_ There was something about those words that tugged at Frank like a fish hook in the brain. He was certain that the solution was simple. Obvious even. It was surely staring him right in the face and he just didn’t know it-

“Boy!” Frank’s door banged open suddenly, making him jump and sit up on his elbows, heart beating wildly. 

Two Beard sneered at him from the doorway, a book brandished in his hand. For a moment, Frank’s breath stopped and his blood went cold as he wondered which book Two Beard had got his hands on. 

“This is for you.” Two Beard tossed the book at Frank, catching him so firmly in the chest that it winded him. “But don’t you think you can lay about in here all day readin’! You’re a smith not a priest - now get back to work!”

Frank was too relieved to feel annoyed, and he groaned softly as he brushed The Book of the Twelve away and swung his legs off the bed. Two Beard watched him from the doorway, glaring as Frank stepped past him and into the forge.

Frank went straight to the heart fire, as he always did, but instead of tending to it alone, Two Beard followed him and hovered at his side as he watched Frank stoke the flames within.

Frank looked at Two Beard out of the corner of his eyes, waiting for him to say something, and wasn’t left in anticipation for long. 

“So, how’s the readin’ comin’ along?” Two Beard spoke with a faux-innocent tone, immediately putting Frank on edge. 

“Well enough…” He said slowly, deliberately taking his time to add more fuel to the fire and getting it extra big and hot for that time of the day. 

“Well enough to read that book eh?” Two Beard cocked his head in the direction of Frank’s little room. 

“Yes…” Frank said slowly, his anxiety slowly increasing as he tried to gauge the expression on Two Beard’s face. 

“Well enough then, to read this?” Two Beard reached into his tunic and pulled free a small roll of parchment. He held it between two fingers, looking down at Frank with an ugly smile that was made all the more grotesque by his thick scar. 

Frank turned away to close the furnace door first, and only once the fire was safely enclosed in its iron prison did he reach up to take the scroll from Two Beard. His pulse had quickened slightly, but he tried to appear calm - bored even - as he lifted the already broken wax seal and unrolled the parchment.

It was a thin strip, and Frank rolled it out between his hands width ways before he realised it was a list and he was holding it on it’s side. He flipped it the right way up and stared blankly at the writing for a moment, lost in its many swirls and curls so that all he saw were patterns at first. He blinked, confused, and then focused his attention to the first item on the list, trying to see past the flowery handwriting and decipher the letters themselves.

“Iron nails… suf… sufic… sufficient in length to…” Frank blinked, his eyes going wide, and then squinted hard as he looked at the list again. He wondered if he was misreading it, but no… it definitely said _‘sufficient in length to nail hands securely to a wooden board’_.

“Aye. Well enough then.” Two Beard nodded, clearly satisfied by the look on Frank’s face alone, to be sure that he could read it. “Heron has asked for this list to be completed by the week’s end. Since you’re so eager t’read, you can work on it.” 

Frank looked up at Two Beard in horror, but the forge master was already walking away. Frank looked at the list again, rushing to pick through the words as quickly as he could, and feeling more and more sick by the second. 

“W - Wait… Wait! Two Beard!” Frank charged after his master, the parchment flapping in his shaking hands. “What is all this!?”

Two Beard paused and looked over his shoulder at Frank, his face set and serious. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like a - a-” Frank looked back at the list but words escaped him. He knew full well what it was, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe it. “We already have a torture chamber.” He eventually managed to choke out.

“Yes,” Two Beard scoffed, looking more and more unimpressed by the second, “but apparently not a very well stocked one.” 

Frank hadn’t ever been in the torture chamber so he supposed he couldn’t comment either way, though in his personal opinion, that surely couldn’t be true. The Queen had never called for anyone to be tortured in the time Frank had been at the castle, or at least, if she _had_ then Frank hadn’t heard about it. They were in a time of peace after all, and common crimes were dealt with in the town square, not in the castle torture chamber…

“I don’t know how to make all of this.” Frank tried to protest, his heart racing so fast that it made him feel sick. “What’s a…” He glanced at the list, finding the words and frowning, “Heretic’s fork?”

Two Beard turned to face Frank properly and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. It made his biceps and pectorals look even bigger, and Frank felt very small indeed gazing up at him. 

“Now I know you’re no fool, boy.” Two Beard snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You didn’t come to us from a peaceful place…”

“I didn’t come to you from a torture chamber either.” Frank snapped, surprising them both with his daring. Almost immediately his courage deserted him though and he took a hasty step back, his cheeks pink. “I’ve never forged anything like this before. And most of these… tools… I’ve heard of them but… But not enough to really know-”

Two Beard took a heavy step forward, firm enough for Frank to feel the shockwaves beneath his feet. It made him tremble, and he turned his gaze away as Two Beard towered over him. 

“You’re a learned man now ain’t ya?” He sneered, unfolding his arms and giving Frank a little shove. “If you really don’t know, then find a book on it and find out. I have work to do.” Two Beard spat in the dirt and turned away, striding across the forge towards his personal fire. “That list be done by the week’s end boy, or you suffer both my wrath _and_ the hunter’s.” 

With his final word said, Two Beard picked up his hammer and turned his back on Frank. Within moments he was hard at work, hammering loudly against his anvil, sending sparks flying so that Frank couldn’t approach him even if he wanted to.

Frank looked down at the list in his hands and felt his stomach roll over. 

He was doomed.

***

A heretics fork, Frank was soon to discover, was a piece of iron shaped into a two pronged fork at each end. Each fork was cruelly sharp, so that the slightest touch could draw blood, and would rest upon the victims breast bone with the other end snug beneath their chin. The victim’s head would be forced back, and should that person try to move position, or worse, _fall asleep_ , they would be impaled upon the prongs.

Just thinking about it was enough to make Frank feel sick, and it wasn’t even the worst thing on the list. 

The _iron spider_ was so awful that reading about it made him go all hot and dizzy, and a light sweat beaded over his skin. He had seen enough of Azeroth Heron’s methods to have no doubt that the man would use it on his suspected witches, and Frank couldn’t bear to think of himself as the person who would make it possible. In fact, it became very clear to him, once he started his research, that he simply could not be the one to make these awful instruments.

Frank had seen cruelty in his life, but it astonished him that humans were capable of coming up with such awful ways to hurt one another. He wanted to slam shut the books he was reading from and flee from the castle library, but he couldn’t. A deeper, darker part of himself was so fascinated that he simply had to read up on every single item on the list.

And so it was in the library that Jamia found him, long after dinner had ended. 

“Frank?” Jamia hurried across the expensive carpets that covered most of the stone floor and came to hover behind Frank at one of the wooden tables. “What are you doing here? Two Beard said you’d been missing all day.”

“I’m not missing.” Frank scoffed, turning the page of the book he was reading. “Two Beard told me to come here. I’m researching torture devices.”

Jamia stared at Frank in stunned silence for a moment, as if she was wondering if she had miseard him, and shook her head slowly.

“You’re doing what?”

“Here.” Frank didn’t even hesitate to hand Jamia the list. He had spent all afternoon and most of the evening reading about the various tools he was required to forge, and he saw no reason at all to spare Jamia from reading the list that he suspected had been handwritten by Azeroth himself. “The castle torture chamber is ill-equipped, apparently.”

Jamia said nothing as her eyes scanned down the list, her face becoming gradually more and more ashen. By the time she had reached the bottom, her jaw had gone slack and her hands were trembling.

“But you can’t be expected to make all of this!” She gasped, looking at Frank in horror. “Why do _you_ have to make it? This should be Two Beard’s job, surely! _He’s_ the master of the forge, not you!”

Frank closed the book he was reading with a heavy sigh and shrugged one shoulder. “I think it’s his way of punishing me.” He admitted, turning in his chair to look at Jamia properly. He noticed, at last, that she was dressed for the temples, with a beautiful sheer veil pinned into the top of her braids and allowed to flow over her shoulders.

“Have I missed dinner?” Frank asked, at the same moment that Jamia asked, 

“Who’s punishing you?”

Jamia pursed her lips when Frank ended up talking over her, trying to stifle her smirk. She paused a beat, but when Frank just went on staring at her she sighed and relented. 

“Yes, you’ve missed dinner. Two Beard’s well into his cups by now too. Don’t you know how late it is?” Jamia looked pointedly at the candle Frank had been reading beside, the wax well melted. “If you come with me, I’ll be able to get some scraps from the kitchens for you.” 

Frank didn’t need any more persuading to leave the books behind. He jumped to his feet and raced to put them all back on the shelves where he had found them. When he was done, Jamia was looking at the list again, her face screwed up in disgust. 

“You don’t really think he means to use all of this, do you?” She asked softly, turning her eyes to Frank again. “The Queen surely wouldn’t let him.” 

Frank shrugged, taking the list gently back from Jamia and hiding it safely under his shirt. “You’d know more about that than I would.” He pointed out, his expression softening. Jamia looked terrified, and he couldn’t blame her. “How do you know what all this stuff is anyway?”

Jamia tipped her head to the side, thinking for a moment. She frowned, confused, and then shrugged. “I don’t know really. I just do.” 

Frank opened his mouth to protest, finding that a poor excuse indeed, but Jamia spoke over him. 

“Anyway, who did you mean when you said you were being punished?” She asked again, taking his hand and pulling him out of the library with her. “Two Beard?”

“Yes. For learning to read.” Frank rolled his eyes and sighed, moving to hook his arm through Jamia’s instead. “He’s not happy about it.”

“Of course not.” Jamia sighed, placing her other hand over the top of Frank’s where it was resting on her wrist. “To be able to read is to be able to learn. Look how much new knowledge you have just today, albeit terrible knowledge.” 

Frank made a soft ‘huh’ noise and furrowed his brow. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but of course Jamia was right. Before he had gone into the library he hadn’t known what most of the devices on his list had been, and now he knew them all. He knew what they looked like, and how they worked, in enough detail to be able to forge them all on his own with perhaps only a few mistakes. He knew what they should be able to do so that he could rectify any mistakes he made, by testing the devices (on sacks of sand, of course), and he had read enough descriptions of their effects to have nightmares for a month.

“Perhaps that’s why he sent you here to read up on them.” Jamia went on, speaking almost to herself as she led Frank through the servants hallways towards the kitchens. “If the only books you get to read terrify you, you’ll soon stop seeking knowledge.” 

Frank’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he soon frowned again and shook his head. “Two Beard’s not that clever.” He decided. “He just doesn’t want to work the list himself.”

Jamia scoffed and looked at Frank, one eyebrow raised. “You shouldn’t underestimate him.” She warned him. “One doesn’t become the master smith by being stupid.”

“No. But one does do it by being strong and terrifying.” Frank shrugged, earning a gentle shove from Jamia.

“Be serious Frank.” She chastised him. “Do you really mean to make everything on that list?”

Frank groaned quietly and rolled his eyes, wanting desperately to say _no_ , but even just getting the word out was too much. How could he possibly refuse? Two Beard’s wrath was one thing - he might just survive it - but Azeroth Heron’s?

“I don’t know.” He whispered instead, his voice gone hoarse with fear. “I don’t see any way to get out of it.”

“But Frank you _can’t_ make those awful things.” Jamia whispered back, lowering her voice as they drew closer to the always-busy kitchen. “Think of the people who will get hurt-”

“But what if I don’t?” Frank hissed back. “I’ll be the one getting torn apart then. And if I don’t make them, someone else will. I don’t think Azeroth Heron is the kind of man to give up just because the apprentice smith says no.” 

Jamia considered that for a moment, her grip gone deathly tight on Frank’s arm. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but she had no easy answer to give. 

“I just…” She began slowly, sighed, shook her head, and then tried again. “I just don’t think I could bear it if people were being tortured with something _you_ had made.” 

Frank’s stomach felt uneasy all over again and he suddenly found that he wasn’t hungry after all. 

“And you think I can?” He whimpered, shaking his head as they turned a corner and the kitchen door came into view, standing slightly ajar with warm light splitting over the tiled floor outside. “I can’t bear to think of people being tortured _at all_.”

“We’ve got to do something.” Jamia sighed, pulling Frank right to the kitchen door even as he tried to fall back. “We can’t talk about it now though. Shh.” She hushed him as they stepped into the kitchen and amongst the many servants milling around. 

Frank had to clench his teeth to stop himself from speaking. As far as he was concerned, their conversation was far from over, but he had no choice but to remain silent amongst the other staff. He couldn’t look at any of them in the eye as it was - he still found himself wondering who had been part of the mob that had killed young Emma. How many of this team had screamed _witch_ at her? How many had tried to save her? Had _anyone?_

The servants all seemed perfectly content and normal, which made Frank’s queasiness only increase. They were busy cleaning up the dinner things, and preparing what would be required for breakfast. They barely even glanced at Frank, though many smiled and said ‘good evening’ to Jamia.

“Wait here.” Jamia pushed Frank down onto a wooden stool beside the fire, and then left him to speak to one of the cooks at the other side of the room. Frank watched her whisper behind her hands, and then the cook glanced in his direction before nodding. 

When Jamia returned, she had a steaming bowl of stew in her hands. 

“Here you are.” She smiled, passing it to Frank. “There’s no bread left, but this will warm you up at least.” She leaned in close to brush her lips over Frank’s cheek, and he caught a scent that was sweet and unfamiliar from her skin. 

“Is that-?”

“I have to go, I’m to visit the temples with Her Majesty.” Jamia took hold of the sides of her veil and drew it around herself, obscuring the details of her face behind the black material. “Eat that and then get some rest. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Jamia wait-” Frank tried to jump from the stool without spilling the broth, but Jamia was too quick for him. She waved away his protests with a flick of her hand and hurried out of the kitchen, disappearing through the side door to take the outdoor path to the temples.

Frank knew there was no point in trying to follow her. No one was allowed to visit the temples when the Queen was there, except for her own entourage. If Frank followed and was seen, the guards would cast him out and then Two Beard would give him a good hiding for breaking the rules.

Frank sighed heavily and sank back down onto his stool, feeling unhappy and out of place. He looked into his bowl of stew and tried to summon up his appetite, but he was still too nauseous to consider eating. He stirred the contents slowly, and wondered over everything he had learned, whilst the kitchen servants bustled around him. 

“Don’t think you can sit there all night, boy.” The cook who had been speaking to Jamia told him as she swept past him with a broom. “We’d all like to get some sleep, and you can’t stay in here unattended.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Frank didn’t even bother arguing. He shovelled a couple of spoonfuls of stew into his mouth so he wouldn’t get told off for not eating, and forced his contracting throat to swallow it down without gagging. It tasted fine enough, but the last thing he wanted was to eat.

“You work in the forge, yes?” The cook asked him, pausing in her sweeping to lean on the broom instead. She looked Frank over, as if seeing him for the first time. “You had much trouble there?”

“Trouble?” Frank repeated around a mouthful of particularly chewy beef. “Like what?”

“Like…” The cook hesitated and looked around to make sure they weren’t being listened to. The rest of the staff were all chatting as they worked, but the cook still leaned in closer and lowered her voice as she whispered, “has that witch hunter been bothering you?”

Frank gave up on trying to chew the beef and tried to be as subtle as possible as he plucked it out of his mouth and let it fall into the fire behind him. He didn’t quite know what to say to the cook, nor did he know if he could trust her at all, so he thought carefully before answering. 

“He doesn’t really come to the forge.” He eventually said, keeping his tone and expression deliberately vague. “Spends all his time in the town I think.”

The cook made a soft, snorting sound of derision and shook her head. “In the town, and in _here_.” She corrected him. “He seems convinced that someone in here was in league with that pot girl.” 

Frank felt the hairs on his arms standing on end and he tried hard to mask his expression. He had no doubt that Emma had not been a witch, no matter what ‘evidence’ Azeroth had provided, and he detested the way the cook spoke about her. 

“You know he made us throw away all our white handled utensils last night?” The cook went on, her eyes wide as she looked at Frank. “Including the ivory cutlery the Prince of Bannerheim gifted to Her Majesty. He said there could be no exceptions.”

This seemed a particularly odd thing to do, and for a moment Frank simply stared at the cook as he tried to work out the reasoning. In the end though, his curiosity got the better of him. “Why?” He asked. 

The cook, who had been about to start sweeping again, paused. “He said white knives are used by witches. Something to do with the moon.” The cook shrugged, her cheeks pink and expression guilty. Clearly, she felt as though she had said too much, and she hurried away with her broom.

Frank watched her go, his lips parted. 

_White knives?_

Frank slurped up a hasty couple of mouthfuls of broth and then poured the rest onto the fire. He left the bowl on the counter and then raced from the kitchen, leaving it empty but for the cook, finishing her sweeping.

Outside the castle, Frank came to a halt and looked up to the sky. The moon was high, but not immediately obvious. When he found it, he discovered that it was barely more than a thin crescent of white. Seeing it reminded him of a diagram in one of the books Master Way had given him; it was a young moon, which meant that Frank had roughly twenty seven days until a full moon. He wasn’t sure why, but that seemed important.

Beyond the castle steps was the main courtyard, where the forge and all the other workshops were located. Several fires were burning, and Frank could see Two Beard sat with the master carpenter, talking by firelight and sharing a flagon of mead.

Normally, Frank would walk straight back to the forge, tend to the heartfire, and turn into bed. But something that night made him turn and take a different path.

To the right of the castle, closest to the coast, was where the royal temples lay. There were twelve in total, one for each God. They had been built in a large circle, like the numbers of a sundial, and the Queen visited them every single night to light a candle or incense in each. Of course, these days, she was accompanied by Azeroth Heron too.

The royal temples were open for all of the court to visit during the day, but Frank had only been once or twice, and only then because Jamia made him. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the Gods, because everybody did, he had just never felt any inclination to kneel at their feet. 

In the town itself, there was just one temple, and all twelve Gods had effigies inside of it. That seemed a much more sensible way to do things, in Frank’s opinion; he'd be much more inclined to pray if he didn’t have to walk so far.

But that night, despite all the walking, and despite the risk of being seen by a guard - or worse, Azeroth himself - Frank simply felt the need to visit the temples.

He followed the path around the castle, keeping his footsteps light and his wits about him. No one had ever tried to disturb the Queen during her prayers, but there would undoubtedly be a guard stationed on the path somewhere just in case. 

The path itself was lined by neatly groomed hedgerows, which gave Frank plenty of shadow to hide in. He used it like a shroud, following the path almost to the end before he came across the guard he had been expecting.

The man was alone, leaning his weight onto one hip and practically snoozing on the spear he held with one hand. He was wearing a metal helm that covered his eyes, so Frank couldn’t be certain where he was looking in this dim light. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention though, so Frank went back a few paces until a corner hid him from view, and then he turned and grabbed the top of the hedge. The foliage was snipped so perfectly that it created an almost flat surface that he was able to scramble onto; he was hyper-aware that he was making a lot of rustling noises, and he had to clench his teeth to stop himself from crying out when the wood pressed into his hands, but by some miracle the guard still didn’t notice him.

Once Frank reached the top of the hedge he lay flat, his pulse racing, and waited a moment just in case the guard came investigating. The man did look up and glance around, but there was plenty of wildlife that could have been rooting around in the hedgerows, so he soon slumped against his spear again.

Frank let go of the breath he had been holding and leaned up slightly to look around. From this vantage point he could see the circular path that went all the way around the temples, and the guards that were stationed at each of it’s entry points. The temples themselves stood like stone teeth beyond that. The path Frank had walked on would have brought him to the back of Kora’s temple - he could tell because hers was decorated with an abundance of stone flowers and fruits.

All of the temples were beautifully embellished by stone carvings; all except for Heleshki’s, which was the temple farthest away from Frank, directly opposite Kora’s. Heleshki, the twelfth God, had a temple made of simple, blank walls and a flat roof. One, solitary candle was burning inside the doorway, like a golden star shining in Frank’s line of sight. 

A shiver passed through Frank and he hurried to choose his new entry. With so many guards around, it soon became clear that the only way to get into the temples themselves, was either to wait until the Queen was done, or to climb them.

Spurred on by some unknown force, Frank dropped down off the hedge, onto the side nearest the castle walls and dashed over the grass until he reached the point where the hedge began to curve around the circular path. He walked slowly, shoulders and head low, and came to pause in the space that he hoped was between the two nearest guards. 

Frank waited a moment, stealing his courage, and then ever so carefully pulled himself up onto the hedgerow again.

The guard stood at the path leading to the temple of Ferrarius stirred and looked around. He was more attentive than the other guard, and Frank’s heart went to his throat as the man strode halfway down the circular path in his direction. He looked around, spear out, but by some miracle never thought to look up.

Frank waited until the man had returned to his post before he dared move again.

Looking up, Frank could see that he had positioned himself almost perfectly between two temples. To his left, he had Plumari’s, and to his right, Viride’s. Plumari was the female counterpart of Ferrarius. She was the Goddess of needlecraft, art and the home, and Frank felt drawn to her temple more than that of Viride… but the forest God had a temple decorated with great, stone trees, and one of the reaching branches gave Frank a closer target to aim for.

Decision made, Frank shuffled as quietly as possible across the scratching leafage until he was as close to the edge as he dared. He looked to his left and right, making sure the guards weren’t paying attention, and rose carefully to his feet.

Frank crouched low, his heart beating frantically, and waited for one of the men to cry out. He felt unbearably exposed here, standing atop the hedgerow with no idea why he was doing so. But he had come this far… and almost without thinking, he reached his hands out to the statue of the tree and jumped.

_Catch me_ Frank thought wildly, fingers outstretched and eyes squeezed shut in fear.

The stone branch caught him like a fist to the stomach. Frank collided with it so heavily that all the air fled from his lungs, but he curled in tight and drew up his knees, and somehow managed to stop himself from sliding right off the other side.

The forest God was on his side, it seemed. The two guards didn’t notice him, and Frank was able to scurry rapidly along the tree branch and to the trunk that seemed to grow right out of the temple itself. 

The stone looked smooth and perfect in the dark, but felt rough against his hands. Frank clung to it, panting softly, and allowed himself just a moment to catch his breath whilst he was shielded by the darkness of the branches.

Whilst Frank sat, nestled in the stone branches, soft voices began to drift towards him on the night air. He looked up, following the sound, and saw the Queen leaving the ninth temple - that of Ferrarius. She wore a beautiful gown of golden silk with a matching veil, and in one hand she carried a lit candle. Beside her, Azeroth Heron loomed, like a great black vulture.

Behind the pair came the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, all dressed in black. The group of them together made Frank feel morbid, especially when they walked with their heads bowed. 

“-I am sorry that your majesty does not agree. But my plans are final.” Azeroth was saying, his thin voice somehow still managing to carry all the way to Frank. Whatever he was talking about, it made the Queen’s body go rigid. 

“You may work for the High Priest sir, but I am still the Queen of this country.” She said stiffly, keeping her voice soft even as her tone hardened. “I do not believe in torturing people for confessions.”

“An absurdity you shall soon grow out of, I am sure.” Azeroth looked relaxed and calm, his footsteps slow to keep in pace with the Queen as they made their way to the tenth temple. “Once you see how many witches I manage to sniff out of your kingdom, I am sure you will no longer feel the need to question my methods. There is a boil in the flesh of your country, and painful though it will surely be, it needs lancing if it is ever to be truly gone.”

“A confession made at the point of a blade is not a true confession.” The Queen insisted, pausing outside of Baubo’s temple and turning to face Azeroth head on. “And my subjects shall not be forced to live in fear.”

The Queen’s voice had risen slightly, and Frank noticed that Azeroth was not looking so relaxed now. Even from a distance, the soft light of the candle in the Queen’s hand seemed to catch on angles of his face and make him appear monstrous. 

“Fear.” He repeated slowly, as if he had never tasted the word before. “With the greatest of respect, your majesty, your insistence on ruling this land with a gentle touch is what has caused this plague upon you.” Azeroth towered above the Queen, his eyes dark and teeth bared in a snarl. “Witches live within your kindly grasp, within your very household itself! I do not come to you at the behest of the high priest alone, but at the very behest of the _Gods themselves_. Challenge me once more, and it is their wrath you shall answer to.”

Frank was leaning so far forward on his branch he almost fell out of the stone tree completely. His heart was hammering so loudly he feared he may miss hearing what the Queen said in reply, but it looked as though the Queen was speechless. The flame of her candle stuttered, her trembling hand almost blowing it out.

“And what if the smiths refuse to make your torture devices?” This time it wasn’t the Queen who spoke, but Jamia. 

Azeroth turned, his surprise quickly turning to a rage that was all the more terrifying for how subtly he let it show. The air seemed to drop in temperature and Frank shuddered in his tree, pressing himself more firmly against the trunk.

“Any man, woman or child who tries to stand in the way of what is right will soon find themselves facing the judgement of the Gods far sooner than they could imagine.” Azeroth told Jamia in an icy cold purr. “As for the smiths specifically, it is Ferrarius who shall judge their souls when they leave this plane; and as any good smith knows, the God of the forge is not the master of fire for no reason.” Azeroth turned slowly away, his face gone hideous with how much he was sneering. 

“Let me make it clear, here before all the Gods, that any smith who tries to step in my way shall be punished accordingly. That is to say, _burned_.” 

Frank covered his mouth with his hand, pressing down hard to stifle the inhuman sound of despair that tried to escape. He turned his face away and pressed it against the unyielding stone trunk, his eyes squeezed shut as if all of this would end if he simply refused to look.

Down by the temples, Jamia was looking sick, but her fighting spirit was not easily pushed back. She opened her mouth once more, but soon fell silent when the Queen touched her gently on the hand. 

“Come, ladies.” The Queen’s voice was tight with emotion. “Let us finish our prayers. I grow weary and wish to retire to my bed.”

“I shall go on ahead.” Azeroth told them stiffly, his own body still slightly tense as the women made their way up the steps to Baubo’s temple. “I have no reason to pray to The Crone tonight. I shall go straight to Heleshki, where I have much to atone for.” 

Azeroth strode away, skipping both Baubo’s and Sol’s temples, to disappear inside of the twelfth temple alone. That of Heleshki, the Death God.

***

Frank wasn’t sure how long he sat above Viride’s temple, waiting for everyone to leave. His head was in a spin and he felt dazed, his pulse never quite returning to it’s normal rhythm. He kept hearing Azeroth’s voice in his head, so clear he could have been right behind him, whispering in his ear.

_Burned_.

That’s what would happen if Frank refused to forge the torture devices. He would be killed, _burned_ , and then undoubtedly someone else would make them.

There was only one possible way out of it, and that was to present Master Way with a magical object before the week was out. 

“God’s help me.” Frank whispered to himself, his eyes shining with tears. He had never really prayed before, not properly, not like _this_ , with his heart in his throat and fear prickling over his skin, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Azeroth left Heleshki’s temple just as the Queen and her ladies were leaving Sol’s. They bid each other a tense goodnight, and the Queen hovered around a moment to give Azeroth a chance to get back to the castle, before she left too without stepping foot into the twelfth temple. 

As they left, Frank noticed that Jamia glanced over her shoulder back the way they’d come, long enough for the Queen and other ladies to move on ahead. But then she turned back and chased after them.

Frank watched her go, a lump rising in his throat, and waited a moment before slowly sliding out of the tree. 

“‘Thassit boy, you can come down now.” 

Frank jumped in surprise and almost fell the last few feet. He whirled around, half expecting to find one of the Gods themselves, and was even more surprised when he came face to face with Blind Mag instead. 

“Mag!?” He gasped, clutching his chest where his heart felt like it was trying to jump out. “What are you doing here!?”

“Same as you, I reckon.” Mag grinned a great, toothless grin at Frank. “Come t’count my blessin’s with the Gods. Wont’chu give an old lady your arm boy?” Mag reached out with her own arm crooked, ready for Frank to take it. 

“Mag… Y - You know we’re not supposed to be here when the Queen makes her nightly prayers.” Frank got the distinct impression that Mag did this every night, and couldn’t quite work out how she managed to sneak past the guards. He took her arm without thinking, still in a daze. 

“I come’re when’ere I please.” Mag scoffed, shuffling painfully out from between Viride’s and Plumari’s temples to stand in the round clearing in the centre of the twelve. “No one ever notices an old crone like me.” Mag began to laugh, a rough, rasping sound that made Frank’s skin crawl. “But… Ye be a good boy an’ help old Mag, and I’ll tell ye a secret.” Mag looked up at Frank with a grin, her milky eyes like two full moon’s beneath her heavy eyelids. 

Frank grimaced, unable to help it, but tried to make his voice sound friendly as he agreed. “I’m happy to help you Mag.” 

Despite her blindness, Mag always looked like she was staring right at you. Or maybe even through you. Yes, Frank thought, that was it. Blind Mag looked at you like she was staring right into your soul. 

“Take me t’all the temples boy.” Mag ordered, already pulling Frank with surprising strength across the circle. “Wi’these blind eyes, I cannae light the candles alone.”

Frank seriously doubted that, but he didn’t say so out loud. Instead he simply agreed and let Mag use him like a walking cane to head toward the first temple. 

“No.” Mag rasped as he went to walk up the stairs, her bony fingers digging into Frank’s arm as she pulled him to the left. “Here first.” Her face was stern and serious as she steered Frank to Heleshki’s temple first. “I am old now… I pray to Death first, lest my time be gone ‘fore I complete the twelve.”

Frank’s stomach roiled but he nodded solemnly and took Mag to Heleshki’s temple first. 

It was a relief when Mag insisted on entering alone and Frank was free to stand outside. He shuddered despite the warm night air, and gazed at the stars whilst he waited. He could hear Mag whispering inside - praying, he supposed - and caught the cloying scent of incense just before she exited. 

“Sol next.” Mag informed him, taking his arm again and moving on with slow, pained steps.

Frank was sure he had never seen Mag move so much before. He rarely saw her moving _at all_. She was always sat beside the outer castle walls, calling out nonsense and generally making her presence known. If anything, he might see her when she was shuffling to dinner, but he had never known she prayed before. He got the feeling she did this often, if not every night, and her excuse for lighting the candles was a bad one - she lit several candles and incense perfectly fine on her own - but Frank was oddly fascinated by her, and suddenly realised that he _wanted_ to be here; that he wanted to understand her.

So together they made the slow progression round each of the temples. Mag worked backwards, heading round the circle in the opposite direction to what was considered proper. She spent a long time visiting Baubo, and a long time again in Kora’s temple. Frank thought of how Azeroth had referred to Baubo as The Crone, and how Mag had done the same about herself.

When she visited Kora, she referred to the Goddess as The Mother.

Inoce, the second to last temple, was also given more of Mag’s time than the others. When she entered, she paused and said softly to Frank, “you should wait back a bit boy. S’not right for a man to linger on the steps of The Maiden.”

Frank was used to Mag saying strange things, but this seemed bizarre even for her. Still, he did as she said and moved to stand away from the temple, waiting as patiently as he could for Mag to say her prayers and light her incense.

When she was finally done, she hooked her arm through Frank’s again and together they climbed the steps to Luna’s temple. Frank went to let go of Mag so she could enter alone as usual, but this time she dug her claws into his skin and dragged him along with her. 

“Come, boy.” She moved with more speed than usual, and her strength was surprising as she pulled him into the temple with her. “Lemme tell you a secret.”

Frank was sure that sounded ominous, but he didn’t feel afraid as he entered the temple of the moon Goddess.

Frank had always liked Luna’s temple - it stood out from the rest, with it’s inner walls completely lined with nacre that seemed to glow from within even on the darkest night. The effigy within was carved from marble, of a beautiful Goddess with pearls in her hair to represent the moon.

Mag took Frank right to the base of the statue, still holding onto his arm as Frank looked up into the face of Luna almost as if for the first time. He had never truly noticed before how beautiful She was; even the statue had an other-worldliness about it that he didn’t remember noticing before, the Goddess’ hands open wide, palm face up, in a welcoming gesture. 

“D’you see the circlet upon her brow?” Mag asked Frank, her voice softened almost to a whisper. 

Frank leaned back, paying attention to the carved jewellery on the statue’s head. At first he’d thought it was just a diadem of sorts, too distracted by the sheen of the pearl to notice much more, but now he was really looking he realised that it depicted the stages of the moon. The full moon lay right in the centre of Luna’s forehead, with the waxing, waning and gibbous moons on either side. 

“T’secret I have for you is this…” Mag looked up too, her milky eyes almost seeming to glow in the temple. “In centuries gone by, ‘tis said that the lady of the moon could lend her power t’any in need… if only they asked for it.” Mag turned her face slowly, her blind eyes boring into Frank and making him feel exposed. “In t’light of a full moon, great power can be harnessed. And from that there circlet-” Mag pointed a shaking finger at Luna’s forehead, “-t’power can be harnessed still. From young moon, to old, even in brightest day or darkest eclipse… if ye be gifted enough… You might draw down the moon.”

Frank gazed up at the statue, his lips parted, and then slowly turned his gaze down to look at Mag. “What do you mean?” He asked quietly, but the old crone only grinned at him and slowly let go of his arm. 

“I mean what I say, and I say what I mean, boy.” She cackled, the glow in her eyes dimming back to something more recognisable. “Now, get’chu to bed before your master starts calling.”

Frank scowled, the feeling of wonder and expectation that had slowly been building around him was put out like a candle in the wind. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but was polite enough to bid Mag goodnight as he left her to her own devices.

As he stepped out of the temple he glanced over his shoulder to see her moving around within, lighting candles as easily as anyone with full sight. He watched her for a moment, bemused, but then with one last look into the statue of Luna’s face, he turned away and headed back to the forge.


	5. Luna's charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey darlings!  
> Thank you all so much for your support so far, it's really boosted my confidence and helped keep me motivated to keep writing! I hope you are all keeping safe and well in these trying times, and hopefully I can help you all escape reality for a little while <3

Even without Master Way’s books, Frank had so much on his mind that he had barely enough hours in the day to think through it all. 

Whereas in the weeks gone by he had been caught up thinking about whatever he had read the night before in the magic books, now he was just as distracted by all he had read in the library about torture devices, and the things that Mag had said to him in Luna’s temple.

Frank was sure - though he couldn’t say why - that what Mag had said to him was the key to him getting out of the castle. If only he could work out how, then he could be gone before the week’s end and the expected completion date for all the torture instruments.

So far, two days had passed since his nighttime visit to the temples, and Frank was so conscious of time running out that it made his head ache. He had had no choice but to start forging Azeroth’s list, though he held back as much as possible. He started with the nails first, reasoning with himself that he made nails all the time. They had so many uses, even ones as long as Azeroth had requested would not be out of place on a wagon or a ship. But they only took him half a day to forge, and all the other small pieces took just another half day too.

After that, Frank had reluctantly started work on the bigger pieces. The heretics fork came first, as something that Frank could create without needing to gag. It still made his stomach roll, and his hands shook so badly that he didn’t get the shape right until his third attempt, making Two Beard so angry that his face went first red, and then an ugly purple colour.

“Perhaps someone more experienced should be making them then!” Frank had snapped back when Two Beard criticised his work, earning himself a hard smack around the head. 

“You think I’m an idiot boy!?” Two Beard shouted at him, gaining the attention of the other smiths for a moment or two. “I know your ability - you make that next one right or you can take it to the hunter yourself and explain why his list won't be ready!”

So Frank had breathed deep and crafted the third fork much more slowly than he had ever forged anything in his life. He had to plunge the iron into the fire over and over again to keep it hot, and his hammering arm felt like it was going to fall off by the time he had the shape almost right. 

For the delicate, deathly sharp prongs, Frank sat back and pulled the iron into shape with tongs, getting the points as thin and barbed as he knew how. Once he was done, he plunged the whole thing into a barrel of water and waited for the resulting steam to dissipate. What he revealed next was, he was ashamed to realise, possibly the finest thing he had ever forged. Not even Two Beard could have done better, and Frank’s feeling of nausea became so intense that it almost overwhelmed him.

Frank plunged the fork back into the barrel and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He wished desperately that he could thrust the whole thing into the heart fire and let it melt down completely; he wished for it so badly that his hands shook.

Frank pulled the fork back out of the barrel and held it high for a moment, watching water drip from it’s spiked ends. The device would be placed along the length of a victims throat, so that one fork pressed into the soft flesh beneath their chin, and the other pressed into their chest. Should the victim move their head or fall asleep, the fork would pierce them. The fork wasn’t deadly, but that just meant that the victims could be forced to wear it for any length of time that Azeroth wished. 

As Frank stared at it, he began to imagine that the water dripping from it was crimson, and he dropped it in alarm.

“You better be workin’ hard over there boy!” The clang of the iron on the floor made Two Beard look over, and Frank hurried to pick up the fork and take it back to his work space. He dropped it onto his anvil and then scrambled to untie the back of his leather apron. 

“I need to step out a moment.” He said to no one in particular, his voice too soft to carry over to any of the other smiths. “I need some air.”

Thankfully, Two Beard was in the process of fixing a cracked sword blade, and didn’t have time to watch what Frank was doing. The sound of his hammer ringing off the anvil was deafening, and no one noticed Frank dropping his apron and scarpering out of the forge.

Outside, it was another beautiful day, and after the heat of the furnace Frank couldn’t bear to stand beneath the sun. He hurried across the castle courtyard, seeking shade and solitude but not entirely sure where he was going. He simply followed his feet, rushing towards the kitchen gardens and the orchards beyond. 

In her usual perch by the gates, Mag’s head turned as if to watch him go. “T’moon is waiting, boy.” She called after him, but Frank barely spared her a second glance.

The doorway to the kitchen was open when Frank dashed across the garden, and he noticed that there was even more activity than usual going on inside. He could hear the cook shouting out instructions, but he didn’t pause to find out what was going on. These days, no news was good news.

Beyond the kitchen garden, Frank came to a halt in the fruit orchards. The trees provided shade from the sun, and there was a sweet smell in the air. Bees buzzed around lazily, and Frank finally felt some of his panic disappear as he sank down against one of the trees and leaned against its trunk.

Being in the furnace, working on that list… it was too much for him. He felt as though his head was being squeezed in a vice, and it was a wonderful relief to get out into the day and breathe in some fresh air. He huddled his knees up close to his chest and lay his cheek against them, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. He pretended he was sitting in the garden outside Gerard’s cottage; that the buzzing around him was from bees that dipped in and out of the array of flowers that lined the path to his front door. That the shade he was being offered came from the weeping willow tree he had spied behind the cottage, and not from a simple apple tree.

It was a lovely fantasy, and consuming enough that Frank was almost surprised when he opened his eyes to find himself still in the castle orchard. A sinking feeling made him frown, and he sighed heavily as he hugged his knees and gazed absently at the ground.

“Hello Frank.”

Frank jumped in surprise when Rohan suddenly startled him. The stablemaster seemed to appear as if from nowhere, and Frank realised with a guilty jolt that he must have been drifting to sleep. 

“Don’t let your master find you out here.” Rohan said pleasantly as he picked apples from the tree, dropping them into his apron. “He won’t take kindly to seeing you dozing in the sun.”

Frank blushed and hurried to get to his feet, brushing grass from his clothes. “I wasn’t sleeping.” He tried to protest, but his blush was a guilty one. “I just needed to get some air for a moment.”

“On a day like this, I imagine we all need to get some air.” Rohan chuckled, his eyes amused but kind. He walked slowly about the tree, the end of his apron held up in one hand to form a basin, whilst his other hand inspected the apples on the branches, turning them this way and that as he chose out the best ones. 

“For the horses?” Frank asked, starting to look too, eager to help if it meant keeping away from the forge for a little while longer. 

“Aye, for the hunting group.” Rohan picked out one particularly juicy apple and twisted it off the branch. “They took down a stag today, so the whole hunting party gets a treat. Even the horses.” Rohan grinned at Frank and tossed the apple to him. “Go ahead boy, you look skinnier every time I see you.”

Frank caught the apple in both hands and beamed at Rohan. “Thanks.” He said earnestly, taking an obnoxiously large bite out of the apple. 

Servants couldn’t just come and pick the fruit whenever they pleased. Only certain members of the household had permission to gather the produce from the gardens, and if anyone without permission was found taking anything, they would be treated as a common thief and put in the stocks. But Rohan was able to gather fruit and vegetables for the horses when appropriate, and with his permission, Frank was able to crunch his way through an apple for the first time in months.

“So, what are you really doing out here?” Rohan asked conversationally as he circled the tree. “I don’t often see you slacking off.”

“M’not slacking off.” Frank insisted around a mouthful of apple. “M’just…” Frank paused, chewing and swallowing before he continued. “I’m just taking a moment… I… Things are bad at the furnace. Have you heard about our list?” He asked carefully, not sure if it was a secret or not. 

“I’ve heard.” Rohan’s face was confirmation enough that he knew exactly what they had been asked to forge. “But surely Two Beard’s not asking you to make all that?”

Frank scoffed and bit a large chunk out of the apple, leaving juice trickling down his chin. “You’re really surprised?”

Rohan seemed to consider that for a moment, but then he sighed and shook his head. “I suppose not.” He twisted another couple of apples from the tree and dropped them into his apron. “Well… I’m sorry Frank, I wish there was something I could do to help.” He looked at him sadly, pausing with one hand on his hip. “Does Jamia know? You two are friends… Maybe if she told the Queen then-”

Frank immediately shook his head, his heart missing a beat. “No use.” He said sadly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “If the Queen stepped in, Two Beard would beat me half to death.”

Frank had already considered asking Jamia to get the Queen to tell Two Beard he had to be the one to make the list, but it wasn’t worth it. Two Beard would know full well that Frank had been behind it, and he’d be sure to punish him for it. The Queen had never bothered them about who made what before, and it seemed to Frank that she wouldn’t want to get involved with this anyway. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Rohan sighed, grabbing a few more apples and then shaking them in his apron to check he had enough. “Well. I better get back to work. You can come too, if you like, keep you out of Two Beard’s way for a little while.”

Frank wasn’t about to refuse an offer like that. He smiled gratefully at Rohan and fell into step beside him, walking with him to the stables whilst he ate his apple and Rohan talked casually about how the horses were. 

As they approached the stables, Frank spotted the great grey and white stallion that the master hunter used. It was a ginormous beast, big enough to make Frank wonder how it ever managed to race through the forests, but that afternoon it was being dwarfed by two even larger horses.

“What are those?” Frank gasped, feeling his jaw fall open as he took in the sight of the gigantuan horses. His head probably wouldn’t even come up to the biggest one's stomach. 

“I was about to ask the same thing.” Rohan looked surprised, but not in an awe-struck kind of a way. Instead his eyes were narrowed in suspicion and he quickened his step, striding the rest of the way to the stables so that Frank had to jog to keep up.

“What’s going on here?” Rohan demanded as soon as they were in ear shot. “Whose horses are these?”

The stablehand, Marcus, stepped out from behind one of the giants, his face nervous. “Azeroth Heron had them sent here sir.” He _sounded_ nervous too. “He said we’re to clean them up and present them to the Queen as gifts.”

“What?” Rohan carefully dropped his apron full of apples onto the closed lid of a nearby barrel and came closer to inspect the horses. They were magnificent beasts, with coal black fur and long white manes. The fur around their hooves was long and white as well, probably, though it was hard to tell from all the mud caked around them. 

“These are shire horses.” Rohan reached up and rubbed a hand over a great black nose that was trying to sniff his hair. “Why would he gift such a thing to the Queen?”

“What’s a shire horse?” Frank asked eagerly, coming closer now he could see the horses were safe. He looked up at the biggest with a grin and snorted when it snuffled his hair and made it stand on end. 

“They’re a working breed.” Rohan cast Frank an amused smile. “Cart horses, mainly. And these two are old. It looks like they’ve seen their fair share of labour already.” He walked around the horse, petting it gently and looking it over. “What these horses need is a nice field to end their days in… Where did they come from?”

“The man who dropped them off said they were a local farmer’s, sir.” Marcus was still looking anxious, and Frank noticed that he didn’t approach the horses now that Rohan was here. “The man gave them to Heron after he accused his daughter o’ being a witch.”

Frank’s joy immediately disappeared, like a candle being snuffed out. His hand went still where it was petting the nose of the horse, and his heart felt like it fell into his stomach. 

Rohan too went tense. “By the Gods.” He whispered, his tone laced with disgust. “I didn’t realise that it was possible to buy yourself justice.”

“It’s not sir.” Marcus sounded so woeful that Frank half expected him to cry. “The man said that Heron has had the daughter imprisoned anyway, and he took the horses too as punishment for tryin’a stop him.” 

Frank looked at Rohan, his face ashen. It was so cruel, and he found himself hoping that Rohan would do something about it; that he would refuse to take the horses and would march them back to the farmer himself; that he would be fearless. 

“Where is the daughter?” Rohan looked furious, his body so tense that Frank could almost believe that he was about to march into town, find Azeroth and take him on himself. He was still gently petting the shire horse beside him, but his face was like thunder. 

“I - I’m not sure, sir.” Marcus admitted, his youthful face twisted into a miserable expression. “B - But I think they’ve taken her to the d - dungeons. The talk i - in the yard is that… that Heron won’t hang her until he’s t - tortured her first.”

Frank’s stomach rolled heavily and he turned quickly away in case he vomited. His head was swimming so badly that he had to close his eyes to try and stop the wave of dizziness that almost overcame him. When he opened them again, he discovered that he had dropped to his knees and Rohan was crouched beside him, his hand on his back. 

“Frank, Frank my boy, are you okay?”

“Ugh…” Frank swayed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was sweating, he realised, and he grimaced. “No I… I’m sorry, I feel a bit sick…”

“I’m not surprised.” Rohan hooked his hands beneath Frank’s arms and hoisted him halfway back to his feet. “Come on lad, sit over here in the shade.” He dragged Frank to the stable and sat him against it’s wooden walls, looking him over with concern. “Marcus, get some water from the well for Frank.” He ordered without turning. 

Frank didn’t see, but he heard Marcus racing away. 

“M’sorry…” Frank heaved in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get a grip over himself. “I… Gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Nothin’ to apologise for.” Rohan insisted, sensing that Frank wasn’t just apologising for nearly fainting on them. “But if I could give you some friendly advice Frank,” Rohan crouched down onto one knee, brushing his hand over Frank’s forehead to feel his temperature; “You mustn’t allow yourself to be so emotional. If Azeroth Heron sees how he affects you, he’ll use it as a way to control you.”

“I feel like he’s controlling me already.” Frank groaned, weakly batting Rohan’s hand away and blinking his eyes open. He looked into the kind face of the stable master and tears warmed his eyes. “What am I going to do?” He whispered, feeling exhausted like he never had before. “How can I go back to the forge when I know… When I know that girl is going to be tortured with the things that I make?”

Rohan’s expression softened, and he began to worry his lower lip between his teeth. He didn’t give Frank an answer; he doubted anyone would know what to say to that.

The two of them were quiet until Marcus returned, and then Rohan snapped into action again. He had Frank sip the water slowly, and used some of it to wet his forehead and the skin behind his ears to cool him down. It wasn’t a solution to Frank’s problems, but the kindness was enough to make the weight on Frank’s shoulders feel less crushing. 

“Thank you.” He said once he was feeling a little better, trying to convey in his tone just how much he meant it. He sat up more and ran a hand through his hair, taking stock of himself and his emotions, trying to lock them down enough that they wouldn’t be so noticeable. 

Rohan smiled and nodded his head once, then pushed back up to his feet. “Linger here as long as you like, I’ll cover for you if anyone comes looking.” He said kindly.

Frank appreciated it, but he knew he had to be getting back. But knowing wasn’t enough to make him move, and for a while he sat and watched as Rohan and Marcus fed and watered the shire horses along with those from the hunting party, and then got busy washing them down.

The shire horses were truly beautiful, and Frank felt a sad sort of ache deep in his chest when he wondered about the farmer who had owned them and all the work they would have done. The farmer and his family probably relied on those old horses, and to lose them as well as his daughter must have been a blow so hard that it wouldn’t be a surprise to hear that the man had taken ill. Frank heard a lot of stories about people falling ill when a tragedy befell them and their family. 

It would be his fault if the farmer died when he heard about the torture his daughter was sure to endure. And no doubt she would die too, either from the torture itself, or the hanging that would surely come after. Just thinking about it made Frank feel dizzy again.

He looked up to the sky and then closed his eyes against the sun, his heart in his throat. He didn’t pray often, but he prayed then - for a sign or for his path forward to be made clear; for a way to get out of this mess.

A soft breeze whistled past Frank, bringing the scent of grass and sweet meadow flowers, and he felt something like peace before- 

_Thwmp_!

Frank jumped in surprise, his eyes flying open. At the same time a thick, metallic scent caught his nose and he almost gagged when he saw the bloody mess lying barely three feet away from him. 

“Now how’s that for a beauty!” The master hunter stood above the mess, grinning about at them all. His hands and arms were bloody right up to the elbow, and his white undershirt was stained with the stuff. “You - smithie - just who I need!” 

Frank slowly rose to his feet, staring in wonder at the antlers lying in the grass, joined together by a piece of bloody pelt hanging from the bottom. 

“Take these to your master and have him saw them into smaller pieces.” The hunter yanked up the antlers and held them out for Frank as if presenting him with a trophy. “The carpenter will take half, and the rest you bring to me.” The hunter flashed Rohan a grin. “I know a man in the town who will make handles for a new set of blades for me.” 

Frank stepped forward to gingerly accept the antlers, holding them at the top and at arm's length to stop the ribbons of pelt from touching him. They were surprisingly heavy and the hunter snorted at him when he stumbled. 

“Don’t you go dropping them neither.” He said sternly, as if they were made of fragile glass. Frank suspected he could throw them to the ground with all his strength and not get a single scratch on them.

“Yes sir.” He said meekly, trying not to grimace as he turned away. “Thank you for your help, Rohan.”

“Any time.” Rohan smiled gently at him, his eyes sad as he watched him go. “If Two Beard gets angry about where you’ve been, just send him my way.” He called.

Frank inclined his head, but didn’t say anything. He walked as quickly as he could across the grass, his arms aching as he held the antlers aloft and hurried back to the forge. 

News of the hunt had already started to travel, and everybody Frank passed complimented him on the size of the antlers, as if he had been the one to take down the stag that bore them. The cook beamed when she saw them, leaning out of the kitchen doorway as Frank went by.

“We’ll be eating well tonight!” She called after him brightly, practically dancing on the spot. Frank didn’t even look at her. A stag would certainly feed a lot of staff once the Queen and her guest had had their fill, but it was doubtful its meat would stretch so far as the furnace. 

When he walked by the carpenters stall, the man hailed him over so he could take a good look at the antlers, fussing over which half he wanted and how he wanted it broken down. Frank just stared at him, his arms trembling from the strain, and had forgotten all he had said by the time he walked away.

Back at the furnace, Frank knew immediately that something wasn’t right. It took him a moment to understand why, but then he realised - he couldn’t hear anybody hammering the metal. 

Trepidation gripped Frank like an icy hand and he shuffled slowly into the forge. His arms were aching too much for him to carry the antlers much longer, and he made a beeline to the nearest workbench so he could drop them onto it.

Once he had, he stepped back and looked around, and went hot and then cold all over when he noticed Two Beard stood with the other smiths around his workspace, accompanied by a tall man in black robes. Even without seeing his face, Frank knew that it was Azeroth.

“There you are!” Two Beard spotted Frank at the same moment Frank saw them, his face filled with rage. “Get your backside here _now_!”

Frank could think of nothing he wanted to do less at that moment than walk over to those men, but his feet seemed to start up of their own accord, and he found himself approaching them before he’d even made the conscious decision to do so. 

“How about you explain to mister Heron here why you’ve done so little of his list, hm?” Two Beard’s face was uglier than ever, his scar tight with how much his lips were pulling at it through his sneer. His eyes were bulging, and Frank felt fear trickle down his spine. 

“I -”

“May I ask first, _sir_ ,” Azeroth spoke up before Frank could utter a word, his own anger obvious though much more subtle. It radiated from him like cold radiates from ice, his eyes boring into Two Beard. “Why is that you have an _apprentice_ working on this list, when I made it so clear to you how very important it was?”

Frank blinked, stunned. The first tentative whisper of relief began to nibble at him, his eyes wide in shock. Two Beard looked angry enough to spit, but he didn’t dare be disrespectful to Azeroth himself. 

“I got enough work to be gettin’ on with here without crafting all that as well.” He said roughly, though with nowhere near as much strength as Frank was used to hearing in him. He had never really heard Two Beard get afraid before, but if he had, it might have sounded a bit like this. “And with Frank bein’ the only one who can read, ‘sides me, it made sense to-”

“To have him complete it alone?” Azeroth finished for Two Beard, his soft voice venomous. “Perfectly sound logic, I suppose, until you consider that Frank here could have been working on - oh I don’t know - the horseshoes and door nails _you_ are probably working on, to free up your - I’m sure - very busy schedule.” Azeroth quirked an eyebrow at Two Beard, daring him to argue. “Or maybe, Frank might even have been able to tell the other smiths here what was on the list, as they cannot read, and they could have worked from his instructions? After all, I assume that’s how things are normally done?”

Two Beard scowled at Azeroth, grinding his clenched teeth so much that his jaw visibly moved from side to side.

“Or perhaps it is that Frank’s work is far superior to yours?” Azeroth put an innocent edge to his voice, deliberately mocking Two Beard as he stooped to pluck the heretics fork from off the anvil where Frank had left it. “This is, after all, quite exquisite.” Azeroth looked at Frank as he said it, but there was no warmth in his tone. The compliment sounded to Frank just like a death nell.

“How dare you-!” Two Beard cut himself short, reigning in his temper just as Azeroth turned back to him, waiting for a threat that did not come. “This boy is _my_ apprentice, anything he can do is because _I_ taught him!”

“Then I expect an equally high standard on the rest of the equipment I’ve requested.” Azeroth smiled darkly and placed the fork back onto the anvil. “And I still expect it all to be completed by the weeks end. So if I were you, master smith, I would dedicate more of my own time to the project.” 

Azeroth turned to look at Frank, his dark eyes and pale face void of any expression. “I shall need a strap attaching to that.” He told him simply, one finger pointing at the heretics fork. “Keep working hard, young man.” 

“Working hard…” Two Beard repeated dumbly, like he couldn’t believe he had just heard such a thing. “Working - Now just hold on a moment!” Azeroth whirled on Frank, storming towards him with rage radiating from him. “Where exactly have you been hiding, boy? When you were supposed to be here, _working hard?_ ”

Frank’s cheeks went hot, but he kept his expression cool as he gestured with his shoulder at the antlers on the bench. “The master hunter wanted to see me. He asked that I break those down for him.”

Two Beard stared at the antlers like a man seeing something for the first time. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his throat visibly working as he tried to think of something to say, but apparently he was speechless. This was not a usual state for the master smith, and Frank suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that Azeroth was still lurking nearby.

“It would seem you are all very busy then.” Azeroth looked pleased with himself as he looked at the antlers and then back at Two Beard. “I shall leave you to your work. Heed what I said.” Azeroth didn’t need to threaten them for his words to still inspire fear. He glanced at Frank as he left, but Frank kept his eyes studiously downturned until the sound of Azeroth’s boots had faded away.

When he looked up again, Two Beard was glaring at him. 

“Don’t think you’ve got out of doing that list.” He growled at him, arms folded so tightly across his chest that his pectorals were up near his throat. “You can cut up those antlers, and then you’re going to get right back to work and earn your keep; and no supper until you do.”

Two Beard stormed away, barking at the other smiths to get back to work. Frank watched him go with a calm expression that was completely at odds to the nervous sweat that was dripping down the back of his neck.

***

There were some things in life that Frank knew he could depend on. Things like… the sun rising every morning, and setting every night. He could rely on the fact that the Queen never missed her evening prayers and that the heart fire would never stop burning, so long as he was around to keep feeding it. 

And he could also always rely on Two Beard being blind drunk before the night was through.

Frank took as long as he dared to slowly saw the antlers into the right size pieces, and then sat beside his furnace whilst he attached a leather strap to the heretics fork so that it could be secured around a person's neck. It was about all he could stomach of torture devices, and so after that he had simply waited until Two Beard was in his cups, and then had tentatively approached him with the antlers in a sack.

“Two Beard…” He said softly, trying his best to look meek and small. “I need to take these to the carpenter and hunter.” 

“You!” Two Beard jumped in surprise and then swayed on his stool, swinging his torso round to glare at Frank. “You finished that list yet?”

Frank had no idea how anyone could be expected to finish the entire list in just a few hours, but he put on his most embarrassed grimace and shamefully shook his head. 

“No sir… but… I promised I would have these antlers back to the hunter by nightfall… May I go just to take them to him?” Frank looked down at his feet and fidgeted, making sure he looked just uncomfortable and timid enough for Two Beard to grow tired of him. 

“Fine!” Two Beard flung a hand out, waving drunkenly across the courtyard. “Take your bloody horns.” He hacked up some phlegm from low in his throat and then spat it violently into the dirt. “M’sick of seeing you round here anyway.”

Frank didn’t respond and instead dashed away before Two Beard could change his mind. He jogged straight across the courtyard to the carpenter's workshop, opening up the sack as he went when he saw the carpenter already sitting outside. 

“Good lad.” The man smiled when Frank passed him his pieces and he admired the antler. “These will do nicely for some new meat forks for the Queen, once that guest o’ hers is gone.” The carpenter took the antlers into his workshop, tucking the pieces away in a great wooden chest. “I hear the man has a thing against white handles.”

“Only on knives, I think.” Frank responded without thinking, his mind automatically turning back to what the cook had said to him the day before. He frowned to himself afterwards, feeling as confused as the carpenter looked. 

“Strange man, that guest.” The carpenter closed up the chest with a shrug, like it didn’t bother him too much. He certainly didn’t look like he was getting any sleepless nights like Frank was. “Still, better to be safe than sorry… You wanted anything else?” He cocked his head at Frank when he didn’t immediately leave. 

Frank blinked at him, unsure for a moment. He felt as though he _did_ need something, but it was only when he glanced around that he decided what that was. 

“Can I borrow this?” He strode across the workshop and picked up one of the many iron files that lay along a shelf. 

The carpenter quirked an eyebrow at him, considered for a moment, and then shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks.” Frank smiled warmly at him and slid the file into his tunic. “Good night sir.” He slipped away quickly, his heart rabbiting in his chest as though he was doing something naughty. He wasn’t even sure what he _was_ doing.

He walked straight to the castle next, entering through the hunters door to find the man himself in the servant’s wing. 

The servants who lived in the castle itself had proper rooms and even their own parlor, where they could sit and drink and converse in their spare time. Frank heard the hunter’s booming laugh as he approached the door, and something in him made him hesitate.

The rest of the antler pieces were dangling by his leg, but Frank lifted the sack to take a closer look. He used one hand to sift through the pieces, and even in the dim light of the corridor, he could see the whiteness of the bone. 

_Azeroth doesn’t like white knives_.

What wasn’t good for Azeroth, was surely good for someone else… For _witches_. Frank’s fingers closed around a piece of antler, one of the smoother pieces, and he slowly drew it from the sack and slipped it into his tunic beside the iron file.

***

That night, whilst everybody else slept, Frank attempted to file the antler into something that resembled an ornate dagger handle. He had never carved anything like this in his life, but he had shaped metal into just about anything you could think of, and though the handle came out a little clumsy, it was certainly functional. Frank thought it might even be pretty… though it was hard to tell by candlelight with his eyes burning.

By the time he was done, dawn was breaking and exhaustion was settling in. He placed the antler handle beneath his pillow, curled up on his straw mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

It was not to last.

“BOY!” Two Beard’s voice was like thunder, crashing through Frank’s skull and making him lurch upright what felt like mere moments after falling asleep. “You LAZY little shit! Get up! GET UP!” Two Beard blustered into Frank’s room, knocking candles flying with his large feet. He grabbed Frank by his undershirt and wrenched him out of bed, dragging him up and into the forge, all whilst ranting at him;

“It’s past daybreak already, you should have tended to the heart fire and be working on your list! If I see you wasting any more of my time then I’ll have you out of here and in the dungeon so fast you’ll arrive there yesterday!”

Frank was still trying to wrap his sleeping brain around that when Two Beard plonked him in front of the heart fire and snarled at him to _get to work_. 

Frank rubbed his eyes, dazed, and slowly began throwing logs onto the heart fire. Once he was done, he crossed over to his personal furnace, and set to work, yawning and thinking of his bed and not about what his hands were doing…

It wasn’t until the afternoon, when Two Beard walked over and dropped a cup of water and a bowl of porridge near Frank’s feet that Frank even thought to focus on what he was actually doing. 

He paused in his hammering, looking at the porridge and then back at Two Beard in wonder. Two Beard simply shrugged and walked away, as if acts of kindness from him were perfectly ordinary, and Frank wondered what could possibly have made Two Beard warm towards him again in such a short amount of time.

Frank looked at his anvil, lifting his hammer to reveal the flat sheet of metal he had been heating and melting all morning. It was incredibly thin by now, and once he’d whet the blade, it would be deadly sharp. 

Azeroth had not requested any knives on his list, but it wasn’t a stretch to assume he might desire one. Especially one as sharp as this. Frank felt sick for a moment, wondering what had possessed him to make something like that - especially when it wasn’t on the list - but then he remembered the antler handle and the queasiness passed.

This knife wasn’t for Azeroth.

Frank paused long enough to gulp down the porridge and water, and then he got back to work, more determined than ever. 

Once the blade was as thin as he could hammer it, Frank took it to the large grinding stone at the end of his bench and set to work. Sparks flew as he carefully shaped and sharpened the blade, grinding it into a dagger blade that was perfectly shaped and beautifully crafted.

The whetstone came next, neatening everything further until the blade was shiny and smooth. And by the time the heat of the day was cooling, bringing the first hint of sundown, Frank was carefully hammering the antler handle onto the base of the blade.

When he was done, he sat back and wiped the sweat from his brow. The dagger sat neatly on his thigh, and he admired it for a long moment, smiling to himself. He knew that he was a good smith, and there was no one else who could have made a better blade, not even Two Beard. It would be perfect to showcase his skill, and if there was one thing Frank wanted to prove to Master Way, it was that he actually had some skill in his fingers, even if it wasn’t magic.

Frank turned the blade over in his hands, thinking about Azeroth’s aversion to white handled knives, and all that he had read in the magic books before they had disappeared.

The white handle reminded him of the full moon, and thinking about that made him think about Luna’s temple and what Blind Mag had said to him. 

‘ _If ye be gifted enough… you might draw down the moon.’_

A thought struck Frank so suddenly it sent a spark right down his spine. He jumped to his feet and tucked the knife into his belt, looking over his shoulder to make sure Two Beard wasn’t around. He could see him at his furnace, turning something in the flames, oblivious to what Frank was doing.

Frank seized his moment and ran.

*** 

The twelve temples were deserted at this time of night, and as Frank crept to Luna’s temple, he glanced up at the sky and the slither of moon that was shining amongst the stars. It was a young moon, and Frank understood enough to know that meant a full moon was weeks away. He didn’t _have_ weeks to wait, but from what he could remember of the spell book he had been enjoying so much - a lot of craftwork required a full moon. 

Frank looked back at Luna’s temple and slowly stepped inside.

The statue was waiting for him, hands laid out in welcome, the white nacre seeming to glow all around the space. Frank felt the urge to kneel at Luna’s feet, and so he did, laying his freshly made knife down in front of him. 

Frank had never attempted any sort of spell or ritual before; he had never even prayed out loud before. He felt at a loss as to what to do, and yet he could feel that he was in the right place… that somehow, he was doing the right thing, if he just kept on trying. 

“L - Luna…” Frank’s voice felt painfully loud in the silence of the chamber, and he grimaced, head bowed almost to the floor. He cleared his throat and tried again, softening his voice to just above a whisper. 

“Luna… Goddess of the moon… I beseech you… Lend me your aid and infuse this blade…” Frank paused, bent low in a child’s prayer pose. The rhyming felt good, _right_ , and he scrambled to try and rhyme more, thinking up his words before he said them.

“A full moon’s power, I do request. Enrich this dagger, and make it blessed. This favour I ask, and make it soon. Hear me Goddess, draw down the moon.” Frank pushed the blade closer, prostrating himself on the floor as he did so, until he was flat against the cold stone and the knife was nestled at the statue’s feet.

Frank waited, holding his breath, his pulse so intense it was like fingers tapping on his throat. He kept as still and quiet as he could, for as long as he dared, but eventually he had to look up.

The dagger lay in front of him, as unassuming as before. Disappointment crushed Frank, and he reached out to take it with a heavy feeling in his chest. He felt like he could cry - this had been his only idea and now he was back to square one, with just a couple of days left to have Azeroth’s list ready and-

Perhaps it was a trick of the light… of the candles interacting with the pearl walls; of Frank’s tired eyes and the lateness of the hour… but as he stood with the dagger, he was almost sure he saw a pearly hue flash across the blade.

It wasn’t enough for him to be certain, but it was enough for him to look up into Luna’s face and _hope_.

“If this worked…” He whispered breathlessly, “I swear I will repay this favour whenever you ask.” 

Frank was pretty sure people talked about such things - of the Gods helping man and expecting things in return. If Frank’s dagger now held the power of the full moon then he was pretty sure he would give the moon Goddess just about anything, but he had no time to consider his promise. The night would not last forever, and he had only until dawn before Two Beard would be awake and demanding work from him again.

Frank backed out of the temple, but the moment he was on the stairs outside, he turned and ran as fast as he could to the stables. He thrust the dagger into his belt and then pulled his tunic over the top to hide it, picking up the pace until his lungs were burning from the effort. He felt more alive than ever though, like nothing could stop him, like he was _flying_ , and when he tore into the stable he was astonished to find Rohan inside - as though all the Gods were laying out his path for him.

“Rohan.” Frank gasped, panting hard as he stumbled towards him. “You’re awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Rohan rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet from where he had been sitting against one of the stalls. “Something was bothering me so I came here to be with the horses.” Rohan looked Frank over, his eyes narrowing as he took in his out of breath and slightly frantic look. “What are you doing here?”

“I need a horse.” Frank wasted no time, his eyes so bright they seemed almost to be glowing. Rohan took a small step back, uneasy. 

“A horse? What for?” He asked as gently as possible, stumbling back another step when Frank advanced on him. 

“I need to go into town. Please Rohan, don’t ask me why just trust me.” Frank looked up at him, panting hard and smiling. He looked terrifying. When Rohan didn’t respond, his smile began to falter, and something of his natural look returned. 

“Rohan?” He asked softly. “Don’t you trust me?”

Rohan’s heart was racing, but he wet his lips and considered a moment. Did he trust Frank? It seemed an odd question. He was so young after all, surely it should have been Rohan asking him that? But in the end, the stable master could only nod. 

“I do trust you.” He said honestly, though he couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling. “If I do this for you… You must promise to have the horse back here by daybreak, understand? And if your master learns you ran away tonight, do not expect me to vouch for you.”

Frank accepted without hesitation, his grin returning. “Deal.” He nodded. 

***

It was well past the witching hour when Gerard jerked awake to the sound of pounding on the cottage door. He fell from his bed, his hair a flyaway mess, and rushed to pull a blanket around his shoulders before dashing downstairs.

He was as light on his feet as a cat, and hidden in the shadows. As he approached the door he kept himself side one, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

On one of the cluttered work benches, his ginger cat, Pumpkin, was looking at the door with a bored expression. If Pumpkin wasn’t alarmed, then either the person outside wasn’t a threat, or they were so powerful they were able to disguise themselves to the point that Pumpkin couldn’t tell the difference.

Gerard was wary, approaching the door as though he was afraid it might bite him if he moved too quickly. Whoever was on the other side started pounding again, louder this time, and Gerard’s adrenaline spiked. 

The bell above the door was silent, but just to be certain, Gerard slipped a purple ribbon out of a basket on one of the counters and held it in front of the door. 

“If this be friend, or this be foe, show their colours and make it known.” Gerard dropped the ribbon, and as it drifted lazily to the floor, the silk turned from purple to white. 

Satisfied, Gerard grasped the door knob and slowly turned it. He opened the door just a couple of inches at first, but when he realised who had come to wake him at such an unearthly hour, he opened it fully. 

“Blacksmith.” He stared in surprise at Frank, and the horse that was munching it’s way through one of Gerard’s beloved herb planters just behind him. “What are you-”

“I have this.” Frank held a white handled knife flat on both palms, his smile huge. “The magical object you requested. I have it, so now you must apprentice me.”

“ _Must_ I?” Gerard scoffed, taking the blade with a sceptical expression. He snatched it up at first, but as his fingers closed around the handle, he slowed down. He was tired and grumpy at being woken up, but his expression smoothed out as he looked down at the knife and turned it slowly between his fingers. 

“Where did you find this?” He asked softly. 

“I made it.” Frank was bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. “But it’s good right? I mean, it’s magic?”

Gerard looked up at Frank, his eyebrows gone so high they were hidden by his mess of hair. He couldn’t quite make up his mind over whether Frank was as oblivious as he said, or whether he was lying. 

“You made this?” He asked instead, shaking his head. “When?”

“Yesterday.” Frank answered immediately. “So you’ll apprentice me?”

“Hold your horse.” Gerard turned slowly away, holding the knife up in the air and squinting at it. When Frank didn’t move, he glanced over his shoulder at him. “I mean literally, smith. Hold your horse please, it’s eating my lemon balm.”

“Wha-?” Frank glanced behind himself and to the horse that was munching its way through the herbs. “Oh! Sorry.” Frank rushed to stop it, grimacing to himself. It wasn’t the glowing impression he had been hoping to make, but Rohan’s horses were all gentle beasts and it walked away easily when Frank coaxed it. 

Whilst he was busy, Gerard scrutinised the knife, but one he was done he simply placed it amongst the rest of the clutter on the benches Frank could just about see in the darkness of the cottage, and then came to speak to him again in the doorway. 

“I shall consider and give you your answer tomorrow.” Gerard told him simply. “Now go back home and let me rest.”

Frank blinked, astonished. 

“W - Wait.” He gasped, rushing forward before Gerard could turn away. “I need an answer _now_. I’ve risked everything coming here tonight - if they see me coming back I’ll get into so much trouble. And you don’t even know half of the trouble I’m in as it is-”

“Stop.” Gerard held his hand up, glaring. “If you really wish to be my apprentice, you must start learning to do as you are told.” He didn’t raise his voice, but he spoke so firmly that Frank still flushed bright red with shame. “I have told you I will give you your answer in the morning. Now return to your forge, and wait for my word.”

Gerard turned away, heading back into the cottage, his blanket held around him like a cloak. Frank’s stomach dropped, despair crushing him and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out-

“If they see me return, they’ll lock me up and torture me.” He was exaggerating, or at least… he hoped he was, but the fear in his eyes felt real, and it must have looked it too, because when Gerard glanced back at him he sighed heavily and nodded once. 

“Wait there.” He snapped, going into the cottage but leaving the door open behind him.

He returned a moment later, with a perfume bottle clasped in one hand. Frank looked at it doubtfully, but Gerard approached him and simply tipped some of the liquid inside onto his finger without a word. 

“Head up.” He ordered, and Frank did as he was told without question.

Gerard’s finger dabbed the perfume onto his throat, one beneath his chin, one on his Adam’s apple, and one in the dip of his clavicle. The sensation of Gerard’s finger on his skin was enough to make Frank’s pulse quicken, and a hot, tingling sensation flooded his body. 

“There.” Gerard seemed oblivious to his crisis. “Now no one will see you.” He pushed the stopper back into the bottle and looked Frank over, an unreadable expression on his face. “Now go, smith, and I shall speak to you again tomorrow.” 

Frank was speechless and a little bit dizzy. He nodded dumbly, and was swooning so much he only just managed to make it back onto his horse.

Gerard watched him go from the doorway to his cottage, shaking his head in bemusement. He had a feeling he was getting himself into something bigger than he had ever imagined, and yet, there was something so charming about Frank that he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“What do you think Pumpkin?” He asked quietly, still watching Frank canter back towards the town. 

Pumpkin ‘mrow’ed by his feet and twisted herself around his legs, shaking her tail. Gerard glanced down at her and smiled. 

“Yeah… Me too.”


	6. The Athame

Frank woke the next morning to the sound of Two Beard bellowing his name. 

After his night-time escapade, Frank had overslept again, and he fell from his bed in a panic when he realised this. His blanket tangled around his feet as he got up, and no sooner had he begun to charge to his door than he fell flat on his face again.

Two Beard burst into his room to find him and wrenched Frank back to his feet with one large hand.

“You sneaky little shit - what the hell have you been doing!?” Two Beard dragged Frank out of his room, blanket trailing behind him, and marched him to the front of the forge.

Frank could see the sun blazing outside even from the shadows by his room, and his heart dropped. It was probably early afternoon already, and if Two Beard had left him to sleep this long then that couldn’t bode well. 

“W - What are you talking about?” He tried to ask, stumbling as he struggled to keep up with Two Beard’s long strides. 

“I’m talking about _this_.” Two Beard threw Frank down the moment they reached the entrance to the forge, sending him sprawling in the dirt at someone’s feet. 

Frank spat dust from his mouth and then blinked in surprise at the really rather beautiful footwear in front of him. Brown leather boots, knee high, with a series of golden chains and buckles making a delicate and intricate decoration that included tiny little moon shaped charms. 

Frank had never seen anything quite like it, and as his eyes moved up further, his heart began to race.

The boots became trousers so skin tight they could only belong to one person. They were plum coloured, that complimented nicely the long frock coat that was a paler purple, more like the colour of the sky at twilight. This coat was also decorated with buckles and buttons in gold, this time with little sun and star charms, with a collar that went right up the throat of the man wearing it.

Frank was already scrambling back to his feet before he’d looked into Gerard’s face, knowing full well who this must be. When their eyes met, Frank felt a sharp sensation down his spine, like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Good afternoon.” Gerard said politely, nodding at him before turning his gaze back to Two Beard. 

“ _This_ is the boy you meant?” Two Beard demanded, gesturing at Frank. “This lazy, good for nothing sack of -”

“That’s right.” Gerard spoke over him, smiling placidly. “This is Frank Iero, is it not?”

Frank could feel that his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t seem to make it close. He wasn’t the only person looking so astounded, all around the open courtyard people were wandering closer to see what was happening. It was no surprise, Gerard’s outfit was so bold and colourful he could be a prince. 

“You must be either mad or joking.” Two Beard scoffed, gripping Frank by the back of the neck, as if he was afraid Gerard might actually try to pull him away and he was willing to fight him for him. “This boy doesn’t know the first thing about making _perfumes_.”

“Naturally.” Gerard agreed, never taking his gaze away from Two Beard. “Which is why I will be apprenticing him. That is how he will learn.” Gerard cocked his head at Two Beard, narrowing his eyes just slightly. “It’s clear you have no use for him. As you said yourself, he is lazy and lacks any talent for forging. I am merely offering him a chance to see if he has any natural ability in a different craft.”

“And how the hell did you come to decide that huh?” Two Beard barked, looking at Frank then and giving him a little shake. “Is this where you’ve been sneaking off to boy? To this - this-” Words failed Two Beard, one hand gesturing towards Gerard. “This _man_.” Two Beard spat the words like venom, his eyes large and angry as he looked Gerard over. Clearly, he had a lot of different things he wanted to call Gerard, but even Two Beard knew better than to insult a stranger like that. 

“Sneaking is not the word I would use.” Gerard said calmly before Frank could speak. “He has visited me just once, when he accompanied one of the Queen’s own ladies. She was purchasing perfume, and Frank expressed his interest in the crafting process.” Gerard spoke so confidently that Frank could only stare, transfixed, as he wove a story that even Frank was falling for. 

“I pride myself on being the best perfumer around, and I find myself in need of an extra pair of hands.” Gerard smiled at Frank and then looked back to Two Beard. “I see no reason to waste my time searching for a willing apprentice when I know of one already.” 

Two Beard’s jaw ticked as he glared at Gerard, his whole body drawn tight like a bowstring. His rage was so obvious Frank could almost taste it, but Gerard looked completely unphased. 

“Well, he’s not available.” Two Beard finally ground out between clenched teeth. “He’s _my_ apprentice.”

“But you have so many.” Gerard chuckled, waving a hand towards the other smiths who had all gathered close to listen. “And you have been very clear about how useless the boy is. I will pay you handsomely for him.” 

Frank didn’t appreciate being sold off like a slave, but it was nothing new. No money had changed hands when Two Beard had taken him in, but it had been a sale nonetheless. Frank’s life-long servitude in exchange for his life itself. That hadn’t been Two Beard’s fault, if anything, he had been as unhappy about the arrangement as Frank had, but the King refused to have children slaughtered, especially when there were only two of them left. 

Frank blinked hard and banished those thoughts away. It did no good thinking about his childhood or the circumstances that brought him to this kingdom in the first place. 

“Save your gold.” Two Beard was still arguing with Gerard, his grip on Frank’s neck getting tighter and tighter. “The answer is no, now leave.”

Frank swallowed hard and felt sweat starting to prickle along his forehead. He couldn’t believe that Gerard was actually here, wanting to apprentice him at last, and it was all going to be ruined by Two Beard. Frank knew all too well that the man could argue for eternity, and no amount of calm reasoning on Gerard’s behalf would persuade him.

And then, like Inoce herself, the Queen appeared. 

Jamia had spotted the crowds first, whilst she accompanied Queen on her afternoon walk, and had easily persuaded her to investigate. As they approached, their beautiful gowns almost glowing in the sun, Frank was so relieved that he slumped down onto his knees. 

As he did so, everyone else began to notice the Queen too and soon the whole gathering of people had dropped to one knee or bowed low in respect. Even Two Beard dropped low, though it clearly irritated him.

“Rise, rise.” The Queen said flippantly, waving for everyone to stand again.

Gerard turned at the sound of her voice and smiled warmly, bowing deeply from the waist with such grace that he could easily have been high born. The Queen faltered, as mesmerised by his appearance as everyone else, and for a moment she simply paused before snapping out of it. 

“Your majesty,” Gerard offered her his hand, still bowed, “it is a great honour to finally meet you. I am Master Way, crafter of fine scents.” 

The recognition in the Queen’s eyes was instant and she smiled warmly as she accepted Gerard’s hand and he gently kissed her rings. 

“Master Way, what a pleasure.” The Queen spoke breathlessly, as if she could barely believe her luck. “You showed one of my ladies great kindness not too long ago, and gifted her one of your perfumes. It is exquisite.” 

“Your majesty is too kind.” Gerard looked over at Jamia and smiled warmly at her. “A pleasure to see you again, miss.”

Jamia’s answering blush was girlish and pleased, and Frank found himself once again astounded by the easy way Gerard seduced people. Jamia _never_ blushed over men, not to Frank’s knowledge anyway, and here she was practically melting at Gerard’s feet.

“I would be happy to gift your majesty a scent of your own.” Gerard told the Queen pleasantly. “It would be an honour to know you were wearing one of my own scents.”

“Then I will gladly accept your gift.” The Queen looked positively delighted, and Frank half expected Gerard to whip a bottle of perfume out of his sleeve or something, but he only nodded and promised to have a perfume _‘more exquisite than any I have ever made before’_ delivered to her within a day. 

“I shall wear it with pride.” The Queen promised in turn, still smiling as she glanced over at Frank and Two Beard and all the people gathered about them. “May I help you with anything else?” She asked slowly, looking to Gerard again. 

“I would hate to drag you into such an uncouth disagreement.” Gerard sighed dramatically, glancing over his shoulder at Two Beard. “But I’m afraid I came here today with the desire of taking on an apprentice, but it seems I have misjudged his importance to his master.” 

“Master?” The Queen followed Gerard’s gaze and quickly caught on with what was happening. 

“That’s Frank, your majesty.” Jamia rushed to whisper in the Queen’s ear. “My friend I told you about.” Her cheeks were still pink, but now her eyes were clear and focused, and Frank could practically feel the nervous energy coming from her. “He wants to become a perfumer.”

“Is that so?” The Queen blinked at Frank, her young face open and curious. “How is it you ended up a smith?”

Frank hesitated, his own anxiety making his lips tremble as he tried to answer politely. “It was an… arrangement, your majesty. Made by your father.” Frank twisted his hands nervously together, hyper-aware that he was dressed only in the loose shirt and braies he slept in. “I was brought here as a child, as a prisoner of war.” 

The Queen’s gentle smile fell and her face became shadowed and firm. Her eyes were not angry though, instead she looked terribly sad. 

“Of course, you two came here as friends already.” She remembered, reaching out to touch Jamia’s hand without thinking. “Then I assume you have had no say so far in the direction your own life will take.” 

Frank blinked, stunned, and nodded without thinking. The Queen said the words with a sort of wisdom that belied her age. Frank realised for the first time that she knew more about being a prisoner than he had ever imagined. 

“That’s right, your majesty.” He said quietly, wincing as Two Beard’s grip became vice-like on his neck. His anger was clearly increasing, but not even he dared speak over the Queen. 

“And is my lady correct, Frank?” She was asking gently. “Do you wish to become a perfumer?”

Frank looked at Gerard, in his ridiculous clothes and looking so composed and handsome, and nodded eagerly. 

“Yes your majesty, I want that very much.” 

“Well then it’s settled.” The Queen threw her hands up as if it was all so obvious that only an idiot would not understand. “Two Beard, let this young man go and give him your blessing. He is being given a great opportunity and we should all be happy for him.”

Two Beard’s jaw fell open and his hand went slack on Frank’s neck. Frank stared at the Queen in equal shock, his own mouth gaping, so much so that Jamia had to hide her laughter behind her hand. 

The Queen merely stared at Two Beard, her gentle face open and inquisitive, innocently daring him to question her. For a moment it looked as though he might, but then he took a slow step back and let his hand fall away from Frank completely. 

“Go and fetch your things Frank.” Gerard told him firmly, without looking at him. “Too much time has been squandered already.”

“Yes sir.” Frank turned and raced back to his room, glancing over his shoulder as he went. Two Beard was looking like he might explode at any minute, but the Queen was ignoring him in favour of talking to Gerard again, her smile bright and inquisitive.

Frank burst into his room in such a rush that he skidded across the floor. He raced to grab the few measly possessions he owned, getting changed into his good clothes before stuffing the rest of his clothes and writing slate and the few good candles he had into the basket that he had carried the books in, weeks ago. 

The Book of the Twelve lay beside his bed, unopened ever since Azeroth had given it to him. Frank considered it for a moment, uneasy about taking anything that had been touched by the witch hunter, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him and he tossed it into the basket too.

Within minutes he was running back to the front of the forge, his heart racing with excitement. 

“I’m ready.” He announced breathlessly once he had arrived, his eyes shining with a manic sort of energy. 

Gerard spared him a glance, and then looked back to the Queen. 

“Your Majesty, I hate to rush away but-”

“Please, I understand.” The Queen waved his apologies away with a flick of her hand. “I hope we shall meet properly again sometime.” She turned to Jamia, her expression so soft and kind that she made Frank’s heart stutter. The Queen looked at Jamia like she loved her. 

“You will want to say goodbye to your friend I’m sure. I will meet you back in the palace.” The Queen turned to Frank and smiled at him. “I wish you good fortune Frank.” She said kindly, before offering her hand to Gerard again. “Goodbye Master Way.”

“Farewell, your majesty.” Gerard bowed over the Queen’s hand as he kissed it. “And thank you.”

The Queen nodded, and as she left, the rest of the crowds began to disperse too. 

Two Beard glared at Frank, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then turned away instead. 

“Back to work! All of you!” He bellowed at the other smiths, driving them back into the forge like a shepherd herding lamb. Only once they had all retreated back into the darkness did Frank dare to look at Jamia, his expression turning guilty. 

“Well…” Jamia had tears in her eyes, but she was trying her best to look happy. “You did it… You got what you wanted.” She hesitated a moment and then stepped close to Frank, taking both of his hands in her own. “I’m so happy for you.”

Frank let go a long exhale and laughed sadly, shaking his head. “No you’re not.” He scoffed, pulling Jamia suddenly to his chest and hugging her tight. “I’m going to miss you so much…”

“Shut up.” Jamia scolded him, laughing through her tears as she hugged him back, her slender arms wrapped with impressive strength around his middle. “I’ll still see you… it’s not like you’re going to be far away…”

“Of course not.” It was Gerard who spoke, stepping up close to them with a gentle look on his handsome face. “And you are welcome to visit whenever you wish.” 

Jamia looked at Gerard over Frank’s shoulder, her cheeks tinged pink as tears tracked down them. “Can I really?” She asked eagerly, her smile wobbly but earnest. “I’d like that.”

“Course you can.” Frank said quickly, pulling back just enough to look into her face. When he saw her tears he used his sleeve to tenderly wipe them away. “Come as often as you like. And maybe I can come here and see you too sometimes.”

Jamia nodded, leaning into Frank’s touch. “I’ll still miss you though.” She whispered, though she took a deep breath to compose as Frank wiped her tears away. She didn’t want to be a blubbering mess as he left, it wouldn’t do either of them any good. 

“I’ll miss you too.” Frank admitted, and a terrible pain tugged at his chest. It was a sort of hollow, lonely feeling, and for a mad second he considered not going. He and Jamia had been together since they were children, taking on the world together, or so it seemed. It felt wrong to leave her behind.

But just as quickly as the feeling came, it passed, and sense returned. 

“Go on.” Jamia stepped back slowly, her hands lingering on Frank’s until they couldn’t stretch that far anymore. “I’ll see you soon, I know. Go on and start your training, I want to hear all about it when we see each other next.” 

Frank nodded, fighting back tears of his own as he said, “I promise.” 

Jamia turned to say goodbye to Gerard as well and laughed weakly when he kissed her hand just as he had the Queen’s. 

“That perfume smells as exquisite on you as I remember.” He told her lightly, making her blush right up to the top of her ears. “Be sure to wear it daily, won’t you?”

Jamia nodded, too breathless to speak. 

Satisfied, Gerard let her hand go and looked at Frank. “Is there anyone else you wish to say goodbye to?” 

“No.” Frank was gazing at the castle, realising fully that he was walking away from all the internal politics amongst the staff, and away from the torture chamber and the list, away from Azeroth Heron himself… He couldn’t wait to leave. “I’m ready to go.”

Jamia walked with them to the gates, promising Frank she would say goodbye on his behalf to everyone he didn’t have a chance to see. He felt guilty for not going to see Rohan personally, especially after he had lent him his horse, but he was sure the stable master would understand. 

As they passed through the gates, Frank noticed Blind Mag sat in her usual place. For once she was quiet, her face turned to the side as if she was hoping no one would notice her. Frank almost laughed, finding it hard to believe that Mag would ever want to be overlooked. 

“Goodbye Mag.” He called out to her, waving a hand up before he remembered she wouldn’t be able to see. “Thank you for all of your advice.” He couldn’t say how it had truly helped him, but he hoped she would understand.

Mag glanced in his direction, but didn’t speak until Gerard had stepped out of the gates ahead of Frank. Just as Frank went to follow him, she shouted, “good luck boy!” and flashed him a toothless grin.

Frank chuckled, as amused as he was perplexed.

Gerard led Frank away from the castle walls, but as Frank jogged to keep up with him, he turned and gave him a stern look. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned him, veering away from the main road that led down through the town, and up a side-street instead. “I need you to answer some questions before I can take you home.”

Frank’s smile instantly faded and anxiety replaced his excitement. He wasn’t sure what sort of questions Gerard would have for him, but he nodded solemnly and followed him to a tavern just a minute away. 

“Inside.” Gerard held the door open for him, and looked about like he was worried they’d been followed. Frank glanced over his shoulder too, but it was too early in the day for anyone to be coming to a tavern, and the street was empty. 

Inside, the tavern was dark and smelled strongly of smoke. There was a fire burning in the hearth, but it smelt as though the chimney hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. There were only two other people in the main room, an elderly man who looked to be in his cups already, and then another man stood behind the wooden bartop.

“Good mornin’ gentlemen.” He looked up as Frank and Gerard entered, his gaze immediately suspicious. “Can I help you?”

“We’ll take two cups of ale.” Gerard answered as he stepped in behind Frank. “And a quiet place to talk.”

The barkeep made a show of looking around the near empty bar. “Not likely to get many folk in ‘ere until evenin’.” He shrugged, picking up two pewter tankards from under the bar and filling them from the barrel resting on a shelf by his knees. “Sit anywhere ya like, no one will bother ya.”

Frank glanced at Gerard, feeling nervous, and moved only when Gerard motioned towards the table furthest away from the door. Frank trotted towards it alone, whilst Gerard went to the bar to pay for the drinks. 

“Have you broken your fast yet?” The man asked him as he slid over the tankards. “We ‘ave fish caught fresh this mornin’, and black bread.”

“Thank you, that sounds lovely.” Gerard said politely, sliding another coin across the bar before picking up the tankards and going to join Frank at the table. 

Frank looked uneasily over Gerard’s shoulder, at the way the barkeep was gazing at them. He didn’t seem bothered that he could be seen to be staring, and it took a long time for him to finally turn away and head into a back room to fetch their breakfast. 

“If you planned to come to a tavern, maybe you shouldn’t have dressed like that.” Frank whispered once the barkeep was gone. He looked over to the drunk man sitting across the other side of the room, but he wasn’t paying them any attention. 

“Dressed like what?” Gerard asked curiously, ignoring his drink in favor of pulling a piece of embroidery thread out of his pocket. It was looped neatly and tied in a knot, but Gerard began working it free with his fingers. 

Frank quirked an eyebrow at him, not sure if he was being made fun of or not. “Like _that_.” He gestured at Gerard’s beautifully tailored, and rather ostentatious outfit. “Like… Like a prince or… or a _wizard_...”

“Do you think I look like a wizard?” Gerard seemed amused by the notion. “Like Merlin, from the tales of King Arthur?”

Frank was not amused in the slightest. “You’re not exactly being subtle.” He hissed. “The owner kept staring at us.”

Gerard looked unconcerned. “The owner is staring because we’re strangers, and it is early.” He said simply, pinning one end of the thread to the table with his finger, and using his other hand to pull the rest of the thread along the edge of the table, like a border. “I imagine he doesn’t see anyone at this time of day, other than the usual drunkards.” 

“I’m pretty sure your outfit doesn’t help.” Frank insisted, but Gerard only smiled. 

“Do you think I would really go to the castle, where Azeroth Heron himself is staying, dressed up like a wizard?” Once the thread had been laid in place, Gerard hovered his hands above it, closed his eyes, and whispered something so quickly and quietly that Frank didn’t catch it. 

“I-” Frank faltered, confused. He looked at the thread, and then back at Gerard, who was now sniffing his ale. “But that _is_ what you’ve just done.” Frank tried to insist. 

Gerard, who apparently was satisfied with the smell of his beer, took a hearty sip. When he met Frank’s gaze, Frank noticed that his eyes were sparkling with mischief. 

“You’re under the impression that you’re seeing what everyone else must see.” He didn’t ask it as a question, and the statement only confused Frank further. “Well, that answers one question.”

“What question?” Frank asked immediately, but they were interrupted by the barkeep returning with their food. He placed down a large wooden plate between them, loaded with four small but beautifully crisp fish, and a heel of black bread, still warm from the oven. There was even a mound of butter for them to spread on it. 

“Thank you.” Gerard smiled kindly at the man. “That looks like just what we needed.”

The barkeep looked pleased, and told them his wife would be happy to hear if they liked it, and then left them alone. Gerard immediately began cutting off slices of the bread, buttering them with graceful sweeps of his hand, and then handed them to Frank. 

“Eat. You look half-starved.”

Frank blushed but didn’t deny it. The food smelled wonderful, and already the butter was melting into the bread. He took it without hesitation and bit into it with a soft groan of delight. 

“Thank you.” He mumbled with his mouth full. 

Gerard couldn’t help but smile, and he gave a simple nod of his head. Once he had buttered a few slices for himself, he settled back in his seat and looked at Frank. 

“We can speak clearly.” He told him, motioning to the thread with his hand. “No one will overhear us.” 

Frank looked at the thread, his cheeks bulging with food, and gave an exaggerated blink. Was the thread magic? Had Gerard really cast a spell so casually? And right in public too?

“I need to know about this knife.” Gerard reached into his jacket and pulled out the knife which Frank had given him. “Did you truly make this?”

Frank swallowed his food so quickly it felt like a boulder trying to sink down his throat. He coughed and grabbed for his ale, gulping down a couple of mouthfuls to help the food along before he felt ready to speak.

“I told you before that I did.” His voice sounded thick still, but his upset was obvious. “You don’t believe me?”

“ _When_ did you make it?” Gerard pushed, without answering Frank. 

“I told you that too.” Frank scowled. “I finished it yesterday.”

“But this blade,” Gerard pushed, starting to grow exasperated, “when did you make the _blade_.”

“ _Yesterday_.” Frank repeated, speaking slowly and clearly, like talking to an idiot. “I _told_ you.” 

“Do not lie to me Frank.” Gerard warned him. “If you won’t be honest, then I won’t apprentice you.”

Frank flared with anger, his cheeks burning red. “I’m not lying!” He insisted, devastated that Gerard would even think that of him. “Why would you-”

“It is not possible for you to have made this knife _yesterday_.” Gerard snapped, slamming the knife down on the table. “Do you think I am an idiot? That I cannot tell that it is infused with the power of a full moon?”

Frank’s anger drained away, his confusion returning as he stared at Gerard. He was missing something, he was sure. 

“I… No. I don’t think you’re stupid.” He said slowly. “I infused it with the power of the moon too. I thought… thought that was useful?” Frank wasn’t entirely sure why he’d thought it, it had just seemed important at the time. “Have I done something wrong?”

Gerard frowned as he looked at Frank, trying to work him out. Frank didn’t _look_ as though he was lying, but that was preposterous. Gerard heaved a deep sigh and sat back in his chair, his anger morphing into an annoyed sort of bemusement. 

“It is not possible to infuse a blade with the properties of a full moon unless there _is_ a full moon.” He said at last, speaking slowly to make sure Frank was following. “The last full moon was over a week ago. The next full moon will not appear until the end of the month.” Gerard waited for Frank to click on what he was saying, but he looked as innocent as ever. Gerard sighed, shaking his head. “How can you have made this blade yesterday, when there was no full moon yesterday?” 

“Oh.” Frank gasped, realising now why there was confusion. “I prayed to Luna.” 

Gerard stared at him, eyes wide and confused. 

“You know… the moon goddess?” Frank began to feel nervous again when Gerard just stared at him like he had spoken a second language. “I… I ask her to… draw down the moon?” That was how Mag had phrased it wasn’t it? How Frank himself had phrased it in his prayer? It was all a bit of a blur now, and frankly, he was still sort of shocked to realise it had actually worked and he’d really created a magical object. 

“You…” Gerard faltered, shaking his head as his body slumped, like all the fight went out of him. “You drew down the moon?” He repeated, his voice hollow and numb. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Frank picked anxiously at his bread, waiting for Gerard to say something else but the other man appeared to be in a state of shock. “Have I done something wrong?” He asked again, unable to handle the tension for much longer. “I’m sorry if I did, I didn’t even really know what I was doing, I-”

Gerard began to laugh, soft at first, but gradually louder as he became more manic. Frank stopped talking, watching him with wide eyes as Gerard laughed and shook his head, staring without seeing at the wall opposite. 

The thread kept them quiet, supposedly, but Frank was sure the barman would notice if Gerard started hysterically laughing. He glanced over at him worriedly, but the man was just leaning on the bar and gazing out of the window, paying them no mind.

“Didn’t even know what you were doing.” Gerard eventually choked out, still shaking his head though his laughter was dimming. “By the Gods… I was so sure that… that you must have found the knife somewhere. That you found it and were trying to convince me you’d made it but…” Gerard scoffed and finally focused his eyes again, looking at Frank in bewilderment. “You can’t even recognise a simple glamour.” He motioned at his outfit, confusing Frank even more before he went on. “But then for you to say you _drew down the moon_. I just… It’s impossible. You’d need a whole _coven_ for that kind of energy.”

“What energy?” Frank asked, shaking his own head now. “I just asked the Goddess-”

“The _Goddess?_ ” Gerard repeated, almost laughing all over again. “The Gods do not just do as we ask for no reason! The craft isn’t about invoking the God’s _at all_. I don’t even _know_ half of the twelve and yet you’re telling me that you just _asked_ for the moon’s full power and Luna just… just… _gave_ it to you!?”

Frank supposed it did sound a bit ridiculous. He shrugged innocently, his face a little sheepish. “I was desperate.” He said meekly, as if that made it better. “I was running out of time to get out of there before... “ Frank shuddered, not able to even talk about the list right now. “I wasn’t sure asking Luna would work but… I don’t know… I guess it did. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He looked at the blade, and smiled faintly to himself. “But this means I did it right? I made a real magical object.”

Gerard looked at the knife too and slowly picked it up. “What do you mean when you say you asked the Goddess?” He asked as he slipped the blade back into his jacket. “You mean you prayed to her?” 

“I… sort of.” Frank wasn’t sure what to call what he had done. “I went to her temple and I… Prayed? Cast a spell? I’m not really sure. I was going on instinct, it just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Instinct.” Gerard repeated dully, staring at Frank for a long moment before seemingly making his mind up about something. He slid the plate of bread and fish closer to himself and picked up a slice, nodding at what Frank already had in front of him. 

“Eat up.” He told him firmly. “And then you are going to take me to this temple.”

***

Frank felt strange walking back into the castle grounds after leaving so shortly ago. It made him feel even more nervous, like his chance at a new life had gone before it had even really begun and he’d be dumped at Two Beard’s feet before the day was out.

Gerard didn’t say much to him as he led the way to the temples, and when they arrived in the circle, Frank simply motioned to Luna’s temple with a wave of his hand. “It’s that one.” He said dully. 

Gerard waited, but when he realised that Frank didn’t intend on joining him, he went inside alone.

A quick scan of the interior told him all he needed to know. There was no power in here. No lingering traces of magic, no ley lines beneath the surface… If the Goddess herself had really summoned down power for Frank then there was no evidence of it now.

Gerard glanced behind himself, back towards the entrance. If Frank had been able to draw doon the moon on his own, then he was more powerful than either of them could be prepared for. Not even Gerard’s old mentor - the most powerful warlock he knew - could have drawn down the moon alone and had the energy to continue about his day as normal. 

Gerard pulled the knife back from out of his jacket and held it flat on his palms. When he tilted it just so, he saw the white of the moon drift across the blade. It was the real deal, that was for sure, and he didn’t get the feeling that Frank was lying to him. 

“Alright.” Gerard stepped out of the temple and looked at Frank, sighing in a resigned sort of way. Frank looked up at him, his eyes big and full of worry, and Gerard couldn’t help but smile. “I told you that if you brought me a magical object, I’d apprentice you, and I’m a man of my word.” He walked down the few steps from the temple to join Frank, extending his hand to him. “Consider yourself my new apprentice.”

Frank stared at Gerard’s hand and then back at his face, his lips parted in surprise. He hesitated at first, but once he’d clasped Gerard’s hand and began to shake it, he started to smile. 

“Really?” He asked eagerly, finally feeling his earlier excitement start to return. “You mean it?”

Gerard laughed and shrugged. “I mean it. But Gods, I hope I don’t live to regret it.” He pulled Frank gently by the hand and walked back with him away from the temples, Frank’s joy so strong that it was contagious. 

As they headed back to the castle courtyard and beyond, Frank felt lighter than a feather. He was practically skipping, a smile plastered to his features. He was so happy that he didn’t even notice how quiet the place had become, not until Gerard pointed it out as they headed towards the gates. 

“Is it always this quiet in the afternoon?” He asked, making Frank fall short and look around. 

The forge was empty; as was the carpenters, and everywhere else. He rubbed his eyes, confused and then dread slowly began to settle in. He had only ever seen the place this empty because of one thing. 

“A hanging.” He said quietly, taking a few steps forward before he spotted Blind Mag on her perch. “Mag!” He cried, dashing over to her. “Hey, Mag! What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

Mag turned her head at the sound of Frank’s voice and flashed him a toothless grin. “Still ‘ere boy?” She cackled, her head swishing again when Gerard came closer. “Ah… An’ yer new master too…” She huddled in on herself, as if Gerard’s presence worried her. Frank frowned, but didn’t ask. 

“Where has everyone gone Mag?” He asked her more clearly and Mag laughed again. 

“You know where.” She told him, tilting her head back in the direction of the town. “‘Nuther hangin’, an’ all the lil’ chickens went to cluck an’ peck-”

“Gods.” Frank groaned, interrupting her. “Is it the farmer's daughter? The girl from the dungeons?” He asked nervously. “She was… They were planning to torture her first…” Perhaps if Azeroth had heard that Frank was gone, he had decided to move the hanging forward, since his list was unlikely to be completed now. Frank wasn’t sure if that would make him feel better or worse. 

“Naw, different girl.” Mag gave a long, hacking cough and spat in the ground. Gerard jumped back with a look of disgust. “Y’all see… When you head that way.”

Frank gave Gerard an anxious look. Mag was right, the quickest route to Gerard’s cottage was through the main town square, and past the gallows erected there. Gerard caught his eyes and gave him an apologetic look. 

“Come along Frank.” He said gently, touching his shoulder and steering him away from Mag. “We shouldn’t linger.”

“I don’t want to see the hanging.” Frank told him quickly, his stomach churning just at the thought. “Can’t we wait until-”

“No.” Gerard was looking miserable, but his expression was set. “It was about time I saw what this witch hunter is doing for myself.” He sounded as happy about it as Frank felt, but hearing him talk that way made Frank realise he was right. If there _was_ witchcraft going on in this town, then the main culprit was Gerard… And soon, hopefully, Frank… 

Frank realised he felt a duty to attend the hanging. To see with his own eyes what was happening to the women who were taking the blame for the magic cast by Gerard’s hand, and soon his own.

“I’ll come then.” Frank whispered, though saying so made him feel sick. “If we must.”

Gerard glanced at him, walking at a fast pace down the main road of the town. He felt awful that what should have been an exciting day for Frank was going to be so terribly tarnished, but perhaps that was for the best. There was no better way to teach him how important it was to remain hidden. 

“We must.” He agreed softly, reaching out to touch Frank’s hand and squeeze it gently, offering what little comfort he could. “I’m sorry.” 

Frank looked up at Gerard, his skin tingling where their fingers were laced. His heart was going wild in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear this time. He was ashamed by how rapidly his emotions could warp, especially when something so serious was happening… but Gods, Gerard’s fingers felt wonderful linked with his. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Frank found himself whispering, his eyes big and bright. “It’s not your fault.”

Gerard grimaced, and slowly let Frank’s hand go. “I hope not.” He sighed, looking so sad that all the warmth Frank had just felt disappeared quickly, leaving him cold. “But we shall see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously the best! All your support so far has really fired me up and made me so excited to keep writing this, which is everything I need in these trying times <3 Thank you all so much, and I hope you're all as excited as I am to finally learn some more about Master Gerard Way <3


	7. Receptive Energy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins with a person being hanged, if this is something that you want to miss, then skip ahead to the first asterisks my friends!

“Jamia!” The moment Frank and Gerard reached the town square, Frank spotted her familiar dark hair and beautiful gown. 

Jamia turned at the sound of Frank’s voice, her surprise quickly turning to relief as she dashed towards him. 

“Frank!”

“What are you doing here?” Frank wrapped his arms tight around her and pulled her to his chest, trying to turn her away from the gallows where a woman was being jeered at by the crowd. “Are you here with the Queen?”

“No, she didn’t want to come.” Jamia’s voice was thick with tears. “But I _had_ to. I had to see for myself what’s going on.” She wriggled in Frank’s grip, twisting so that she could see the woman again. “That’s the local midwife - how can he kill a _midwife?_ ” Jamia looked at Frank with wide, tearful eyes, and though she didn’t say it, Frank could see an unspoken question in her eyes.

_What are YOU going to do about it?_

Frank glanced over his shoulder at Gerard, silently pleading with him to help. 

“What has she been accused of?” Gerard asked softly, his eyes fixed on the woman and the crowds hurling insults at her. There were a few who were weeping for her, but not many. It reminded Frank of the way the castle staff had turned the moment they were convinced that Emma was a witch, and his stomach roiled. 

“She tended to a woman last night, but the baby was stillborn.” Jamia whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. “Azeroth blames her, he says she cast a spell to make it happen.”

“Nonsense.” Gerard scoffed, at the same time as Frank snapped “ _bullshit!_ ”

“Why would she do that?” Frank snarled, his voice rising in volume as he grew more and more enraged. “She’s a _midwife_ , she wouldn’t kill a baby! Childbirth goes wrong all the time-!”

“Quiet.” Gerard hushed Frank quickly, before he could draw any attention. He gestured a hand at him, as if he meant to actually clamp it over his mouth if he had to. “Be careful what you shout. This crowd doesn’t seem friendly.”

Jamia scoffed, looking around. “There’s an understatement.” She whispered, her eyes nervous as she took in the people shouting and gesturing at the gallows. Azeroth Heron himself stood beside the gallows, watching as a silent witness as the hatred in the square grew with seemingly no input from himself. 

“We have to do something.” Jamia glanced over her shoulder at Frank and Gerard. “We can’t let them hang her. It’s not right!”

“I fear there isn’t much we can do.” Gerard’s expression was pained as he looked at the woman, who was weeping as a noose was placed over her head. “If we try to intervene, this crowd will kill us too.”

Frank’s stomach dropped, but as he looked around he realised Gerard was right. After seeing the way the mob had killed Emma, he didn’t dare try to combat such hatred. Whatever Azeroth had said, it was enough to turn these pleasant townsfolk into wild beasts. 

“Jamia,” He said gently, turning her back to him once more, “you should go… Don’t watch this.” 

Jamia’s eyes went wide, her lips trembling as she stared at Frank. For a moment she was speechless, but then something hard and cold ignited in her eyes and she shoved Frank away. 

“I will not go.” She said firmly, her fists clenching at her sides. “I will see what this man is doing to our kingdom. And then I shall tell the Queen.” 

Frank bit his lip, thinking to himself that it was worthless but not daring to say as much. The Queen already knew what was happening, as they all did; and just like he had been doing until that moment, the Queen seemed content to simply bury her head in the sand. 

“Jay-”

“I said I’m staying!” Jamia flinched away from the hand Frank tried to lay on her shoulder, and turned resolutely back towards the gallows. Now that the noose was in place, Azeroth was walking up the short flight of stairs to stand beside the woman, a roll of parchment in his hands. As people began to notice him, a gradual hush descended over the crowd, until only the soft breeze and the midwife’s tears could be heard. 

Azeroth looked out over the crowd, gazing at them all for so long it felt as though he was trying to memorise every single face. When his eyes landed on Frank, he blushed bright red and tried to hide behind Gerard, before realising that was probably a mistake with the outfit that Gerard was wearing. When Azeroth looked at the perfumer though, he barely lingered on him for a moment before moving on, as though he saw embellished purple suits every day.

“My good people,” Azeroth spoke so suddenly that Frank jumped in surprise, as did a number of other people. The man had a thin, reedy sort of voice, and yet it carried easily, so they could all hear him; “it pains me to be here with you all once again. But it would seem that the blight on this land spreads further than even I had first imagined.” Azeroth twisted his face into a sorrowful expression as he slowly unrolled the parchment. 

“When I was sent here by the High Priest to cleanse the evil in your kingdom, I never suspected that it would be so bad as this.” Azeroth turned to look at the midwife, and though Frank was too far away to see for himself, he could imagine the malice in those black eyes. “Here we have a woman - a _witch_ \- who preys on those most _innocent_ of souls.”

The woman moaned softly, shaking her head as she cried. Her hands were bound in front of her, but Frank got the feeling that even if she wasn’t tied up, she wouldn’t try to escape. 

“This woman, this _creature_ must be killed!” Azeroth raised his voice then, and the crowd cheered their agreement. “Only through death can we hope to cleanse this land! Let all witches hear me now and know - I shall not leave, I shall not _rest_ , until every single evil soul has been found and snuffed out by my hand!” 

The crowd cheered again, louder and more ferocious this time. A few people surged forward, but Azeroth held out his hand to them and they fell back again, obedient as dogs.

“Look at me witch!” Azeroth turned to the midwife, his face pulled into a snarl as she looked down at her feet and sobbed. “Do you have any last words?” 

“I d - didn’t… I didn’t-”

“Very well.” Azeroth cut her off as if she hadn’t spoken at all and turned back to the crowd, stretching out the parchment and holding it aloft as he read from it. “In the name of the High Priest and of The Twelve, I sentence this woman, Mrs Clarence Baker, to death for the crime of maleficence and infanticide.”

Azeroth rolled up the parchment with great pomp and circumstance and slid it back into the folds of his robes. Then he turned to Clarence and made the sign of the twelve before her, saying her funeral rites rapidly. 

“In the name of The Twelve I bless thee, may your soul be saved if it is right for them to do so. May Heleshki grant you a swift death. May Luna guide you with her light to the nightlands. May Inoce cleanse you of your sins. May Fluenta make rivers from your tears. May Ceres use your body to bring bounty to the land.” 

As Azeroth spoke, people began to join in. Saying the rites with him. 

“May Eroso mend the broken hearts of your family. May Kora protect your soul for eternity. May Viride clear your path through the trees to the otherworld. May Plumari find a place for you in her home.”

More and more began to join in too, until the funeral rites were chanted by dozens of voices, lifting into the air and making Frank’s spine tingle. 

“May Ferrarius burn away your past life. May Baubo lift you up from the ashes. May Sol grant you a new life, with the rising of the sun.” The crowd went quiet, and Azeroth motioned for a member of his guard to come to the lever that opened the door in the floor of the gallows. 

“In the name of the Mother, the Father, the Maiden and the Crone, I surrender your soul to The Twelve.” 

The guardsman pulled the lever, and Clarence Baker's body shot through the door that opened beneath her feet. Frank had been waiting for it, and yet somehow still hadn’t been expecting it, and he gasped in horror as he tried to reach for Jamia and shield her from seeing - but it was too late.

The crowd cheered as Clarence’s body kicked and swung from her rope, but at least the noise of their revelry drowned out the sound of the poor woman choking. Frank had only seen a couple of hangings in his life, but on both of those occasions the neck had snapped and made for a quick death. Clarence Baker was not awarded even that small mercy, and Frank couldn’t bring himself to look away as the woman was slowly strangled to death.

Jamia, too, watched until the end. Her teeth were clenched so hard that her jaw was visibly strained, and the tears that fell from her eyes were hot and silent. 

It felt like an age before Clarence finally went still, her face blue and her eyes and tongue bulging. Her limp body swung slowly to and fro, but eventually, even that small movement stopped. 

Frank went on staring, feeling sick to the stomach, and only snapped out of it when Gerard spoke from behind him. 

“I don’t understand…” He said slowly, making Frank jump and turn to look at him. “I confess, I don’t know much about your twelve Gods, but that didn’t sound like she was being sent to… to a bad afterlife or… or to punishment?”

Frank opened his mouth to reply, but Jamia beat him to it. She didn’t turn to look at them, instead she went on staring at Clarence, and though tears were dripping down her cheeks, her voice was steady. 

“The religion of the Twelve doesn’t believe in separate afterlives for people who are good or evil.” She explained quietly, her shoulders tense. “Inoce, the Goddess of innocence, cleanses us all of our sins when we die. Ferrarius burns away our past, and Sol grants us a new life.” She turned her head slowly to look at Gerard, and Frank shrunk back to see rage in her eyes. 

“That’s why Azeroth and these… these _people_ , find it so easy to murder innocent women.” She spat, her voice starting to tremble at last. “Because they’ll all be granted new lives anyway. If they truly have been evil in this life, then Sol will punish them by giving them a life that is hard and painful. If they were good, they will be brought back into a life that is rich and full of abundance.” Jamia used the back of her hand to wipe at her tears, her chest heaving as she tried not to sob. “There is no punishment in the otherworld, because this life, _this life_ , is the punishment.” 

Jamia glanced around, shaking as she sucked in deep breaths. The crowds were slowly starting to disperse, murmuring softly in pairs or in groups. Azeroth was descending the steps of the gallows, and men were rushing forward with a cart to place Clarence’s body in, to take her to be buried. 

“I must go.” Jamia was shaking so badly that her teeth were chattering. “I want to get back to the castle before Azeroth returns.”

“Wait.” Frank begged, rushing to her and grabbing her hand as she turned to leave. “Please don’t go. You’re upset-”

“I quite agree.” Gerard surprised them both by stepping closer too and gently laying a hand on Jamia’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t go alone. Come back with us, I have some soup warming over the fire, we can eat and be of comfort to you.”

Frank smiled, his eyes shining with relief. Soup and company sounded like just what they all needed, but when he looked at Jamia, her answering smile was painfully sad.

“Thank you, but I can’t linger.” She inhaled deeply, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “I can’t walk back through here later. I have to go.”

“Then let us walk you back.” Frank said quickly, refusing to let go of her hand. “Please Jay.”

“No. Thank you.” Jamia brushed Frank’s hand away, just firmly enough that Frank didn’t try to touch her again. “I want to go. Please.” 

A million words hung unspoken between them, so heavy that they left an ache in Frank’s heart. But he knew when he was pressing an issue too much, so he stepped back slowly, hating himself for it as he let Jamia go. 

“I’ll see you soon, right?” He asked softly, tears budding in his own eyes. 

Jamia didn’t look back at him, too afraid to see that hanging body again. She nodded stiffly, but didn’t offer any clue as to when “soon” might be. Instead, she simply said “Goodbye Frank” and dashed as quickly as her full skirt would allow her, back in the direction of the castle.

Frank watched her go, guilt prickling at him, until Gerard a lay hand on his shoulder. 

“Come along Frank.” He said gently. “We should get going too.”

Frank nodded, all the fight knocked out of him. He followed Gerard wearily through the crowd, towards the crossroads that led to his cottage. As they bypassed the gallows they heard Azeroth snapping at the men trying to take down Clarence’s body, forbidding them from doing it.

“Let her be an example,” he said, “of what happens to witches in this town.” 

***

As soon as Frank stepped into the cottage, his senses were woken with the smell of something delicious cooking. He inhaled deeply and his mouth watered, his stomach starting to gurgle despite having only had breakfast a couple of hours ago.

The main room of the cottage was as cluttered as Frank had ever seen it, with dozens of objects clamouring for space. The windows were once again filthy, and the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling seemed to have multiplied. Frank looked around in awe, wondering how one man - even a warlock - could tidy a place so perfectly, as he had when Jamia had visited, and then make it so messy again.

“Come and sit down, you look pale.” Gerard ushered Frank towards the fire, sitting him down on a stool that had been covered in books which were unceremoniously dumped on the floor. “I understand that you’re upset, but I’ll have you feeling better in no time.” 

“Well that sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” Frank said weakly, before blushing when his brain caught up and he realised how that sounded. “Oh, I didn’t mean-!”

“It’s fine.” Gerard shrugged, apparently oblivious to Frank’s clumsy flirting as he picked his way around the nearest counter, gathering various bits and pieces which he then threw into the cooking pot that was bubbling over the fire. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that hanging, Frank.” Gerard glanced at him as he pulled a few sprigs of rosemary from the bunch hanging above his head and laid them out neatly on the one blank bit of counter space. “I felt it was important though, for both of us.”

Frank looked up at Gerard, watching him curiously as he pulled the knife that Frank had made from out of his tunic and began cutting the rosemary with it. 

“The hours I spent on that blade… and you’re using it to chop plants.” Frank said playfully, his smile teasing as Gerard paused and looked at him.

“Well of course,” Gerard’s smile was a little confused, “why else would you imbibe it with the power of the full moon?” 

Frank blinked, his smile faltering. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, since he didn’t really know what the power of the moon offered a blade at all. When Gerard saw how bemused he was he just laughed and went on chopping. 

“A blade like this is a useful tool. Many spells require moon magic, but you’ve saved me the effort of waiting around for the full moon every month.” He smiled warmly at Frank and used the knife to scrape the chopped rosemary into his palm and then into the cooking pot. 

“Oh.” Frank smiled, pleased he’d been so useful, even if inadvertently. “You’re welcome.” 

Gerard laughed softly and stirred the contents of the pot, peering in at it before disappearing through a door at the back of the room. It took Frank a moment to recognise it as the door they had gone through together, on the day he had come to tell Gerard he could read; with the cottage so cluttered again, nothing looked familiar.

When Gerard emerged again, he had dozens of jars and vials in his arms. He carried them precariously to the counter, and then started tipping their contents into the cooking pot one by one.

Frank watched him with interest, wondering what each of the powders and liquids were. 

“I wish Jamia would have joined us,” Gerard sighed as he sprinkled something silvery into the pot, “she would have felt much better if she had.” He stirred the contents, tasted it, and then sprinkled in a little more. “Will she be okay alone?”

“I think so.” Frank sighed, looking down at his feet for a moment. “The Queen will take care of her. She and Jay are very close, I think.” Jamia never really talked about the Queen in any amount of detail, but Frank got the feeling that was because she was being private about their friendship. It was obvious from the way Jamia looked at the monarch that she adored her, and vice versa.

“That’s good.” Gerard picked up a handful of dried flowers and scattered them into the pot, causing it to spit and bubble viciously for a few seconds. Frank sat up straighter to try and get a closer look, his eyes going wide. 

“What was that?” He asked eagerly, suddenly realising that when Gerard said he was going to make him feel better, he must really mean it. “Is it magic?”

Gerard’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. He didn’t look at Frank, too focused on adding things to the soup, but he answered him in a calm, casual tone. “If you consider botany a form of magic, then yes. I suppose it is.” He tasted the soup again and smiled, satisfied. “And cooking too. Cooking is one of the most special forms of magic of all.” Gerard stood on his tiptoes and retrieved two wooden bowls from an alcove set into the chimney breast. He blew the dust and ash off them, wiped them on his shirt and began ladling soup into them.

“Cooking? Magic?” Frank wrinkled his nose up, unimpressed, before suddenly, he gasped. “Your outfit!” He cried, pointing an accusing finger at Gerard, his jaw hanging open. “When did you change!?”

“Hm?” Gerard, who Frank realised was wearing black trousers and a billowing white shirt, looked at him like he was crazy. “What are yo - ooh.” He rolled his eyes at himself and chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course. I forgot to say, there’s a charm on the door that removes all glamours from those who enter.” Gerard inclined his head towards the front door of the cottage, as if that explained everything. 

“Removes what?” Frank frowned at the door and then back at Gerard, taking the bowl of soup he was offered without thinking. 

“Glamours.” Gerard looked around and then used his foot to slide a nearby crate closer to the fire. He plopped one of the many cushions dotted about on top of it, and then sat down daintily opposite Frank. When he saw the confusion on Frank’s face he sighed and tried to think of the quickest way to explain. 

“A glamour is… a sort of veil.” He said slowly, swirling his soup around his bowl before bringing it to his lips and trying a sip. “It’s a charm that hides or alters the appearance of something or someone. The outfit I was wearing outside was one of your own creation.” His eyes sparkled as he grinned at Frank. “The glamour I wore today would have been different to everyone; altering my appearance based on what people _expected_ to see.” 

Frank almost choked on his mouthful of soup, his eyebrows rising so high he could feel his forehead wrinkling. “ _I_ made that up?” He thought of the purple ensemble Gerard had been wearing and shook his head. “There’s no way I could have come up with that.” 

Gerard laughed, his eyes sparkling. He almost wished he could have seen what Frank had imagined. “The first day we met, you called me a warlock.” Gerard didn’t seem angry by the term anymore, instead he just looked amused. “When you saw me today, you expected to see someone who has magic. The glamour would have altered accordingly.”

Frank blinked, stunned, and Gerard went on speaking. 

“As for your old master, he expected to see a pompous perfumer, trying to steal his apprentice. So the glamour would have been different again. The Queen expected a highly esteemed crafter of scents, so that’s who she would have seen… And at the hanging, Azeroth Heron does not know me, so all he would have seen was a stranger fading into the crowd.”

Gerard slurped up some more soup with a casual half shrug. Frank stared at him, stunned. Now that he thought about it, it made sense. No one else had seemed phased by Gerard’s clothes, as Frank had, and when Azeroth had searched the faces of the crowd, hadn’t his eyes practically skipped over Gerard? 

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Frank gasped, leaning forward eagerly. 

“To wear a glamour? Of course.” Gerard said as if it were easy. “But first, drink your soup. You’ll feel better.”

Frank obediently brought the bowl to his lips and gulped down almost half of the broth all in one go. A trickle of the warm broth built in the corner of his lips and he swallowed hard, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

The soup was sweet and fragrant, with a faint spiciness that tickled the back of Frank’s throat. He could feel it warming him all the way down to his toes, and as it went, it _did_ make him feel better. The heavy weight of sorrow that had settled on him at the hanging seemed suddenly lighter, not gone exactly, but easier to ignore. 

Frank looked at the contents, amazed, and then slurped up some more. Gerard watched him the whole time, his gaze intent, and once they had both downed the contents of their bowls, Gerard placed them on the nearby countertop and then leaned forward to talk some more. 

“Seeing that hanging was important,” he said softly, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking at Frank with such dazzling hazel eyes that the young smith felt spellbound, “I needed to understand what it was the woman was being accused of.”

Frank leaned forward too, mirroring Gerard without thinking. 

“The amount of witchcraft accusations in this town have risen exponentially.” Gerard was saying, his brow furrowed in concern. “This time last year there were no women under threat of being hanged for witchcraft, nor had there been for many, many years.”

Frank nodded slowly, glad that he had drank the soup before Gerard began talking of this. Even with the broth’s magical properties, Frank could feel a hint of anxiety tickling the back of his neck like shadowy fingers. 

“The problem is Azeroth Heron.” He said quietly, keeping his voice low as if he were afraid of being overheard. “He’ll accuse anyone for just about anything.”

“But the hangings had begun months before Heron came to town.” Gerard reminded Frank gently. “Several women had already lost their lives by then. Though I’ll admit, Heron has made things far worse.” Gerard sat back with a heavy sigh, one hand pushing restlessly through his hair. He seemed lost in thought, and Frank didn’t dare speak. He had nothing else to say anyway. He didn’t want to talk about the hangings or the witch-hunts, he wanted to simply bask in the knowledge that he was _here_ , in Gerard’s home and about to be apprenticed by him. 

Gradually, Gerard’s gaze focused again, and he turned his eyes back to Frank. “I was frightened that these women are being accused because of me.” He spoke softly, so softly that Frank almost didn’t hear him. The words came out like a secret that Gerard wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to tell. “That what I do here was somehow being traced to them.”

Frank frowned, wrinkling up his nose. “But why would it?” He asked. “You haven’t done any of the things that midwife was accused of.”

Gerard went significantly paler. “Of course not.” He said strongly, disgusted by the very thought. “And I’m certain that Mrs Clarence Baker was not guilty of her sentence either.” Just saying it brought a shadow of sorrow over Gerard’s face. “Don’t you think it strange that only women so far have been accused of witchcraft?”

Frank sat back in surprise, his face going blank. He hadn’t ever thought about it before, and even now when Gerard pointed it out, something in him didn’t find it strange at all. 

“Oh, I… Uh… I don’t…” Frank stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say. “I suppose…”

Gerard smiled in a sad sort of way and shook his head. “Of course you don’t think it’s strange.” He sighed, and he sounded so disappointed that Frank flooded with guilt. “Afterall, it’s always women who are accused, isn’t it? Of secrecy and treachery, of tempting others or being tempted themselves.” Gerard rose to his feet and sighed, turning to clear a small space on the counter. “I know of only one practitioner of the craft in these parts and that’s me… yet I don’t imagine I will be suspected, because I’m a man.” Gerard gave Frank a meaningful look. “Except… You knew, didn’t you Frank?” Gerard suddenly stopped moving and cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “How did _you_ know?”

Frank blushed, taken by surprise at the sudden question, but it didn’t take him long to answer. “I’d heard stories about you.” He said simply, almost smiling as he remembered that feeling of wonder he’d first felt when Jamia had told him about Master Way, the crafter of scents. “A lady of the court had bought a perfume from you, and she went around telling everyone how it was the nicest scent she’d ever smelt, and trying to get them all to sniff her neck.” Frank sniggered at the memory and even Gerard looked amused. 

“Then, someone else bought a scent from you on her recommendation, and she became convinced it was the reason she found love the very next day. And then a gentleman came to the forge to purchase a sword, and told Two Beard that he’d been wearing one of your scents for weeks and had felt so confident whilst wearing it, that people were much kinder to him.” Frank paused for a moment, trying to remember at what moment he’d put two and two together, but it felt like he’d always known, from the first moment he’d heard the name Way.

“I’m not… I’m not sure how or when I figured it out… but whilst everyone else was talking about how your scents must be the best in the world, I just… sort of realised that… that there was more to them.” Frank looked at Gerard, beginning to smile. “They _are_ magic, aren’t they?” He asked, practically certain of it already. “The perfumes you make?”

Gerard looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed, but his lips quirked at the corners and gave him away. “They’re not _all_ magic.” He said eventually, huffing a little as he pulled a small, pewter cauldron over to him. It was smaller even than the bowls they had eaten from, but beautifully crafted all the same. 

“But _some_ are?” Frank grinned, coming closer to see what Gerard was doing. 

Gerard sighed, but didn’t deny it. “So… Of all the people in the kingdom to know about me, you are the only one who figured out the truth?” Gerard looked at Frank, his gaze open but critical. “It would seem you have a sixth sense.”

Frank blushed, unsure whether he was being told off or not. “I… I suppose I only really figured it out because… Because I’d always hoped I might meet someone who… who could teach me.” 

Gerard frowned, cocking his head to the side again. He looked Frank over, as if seeing him for the first time. “You said as much on the first day we met.” He remembered. “What is it about the craft that you were so enamoured with? Especially as a blacksmith, of all things.”

“It’s not like I chose to be a smith.” Frank scoffed, bristling defensively. “It’s not like I’ve had any say in my life at all. Not until now… Not until I came to you.” Frank softened almost immediately, and Gerard could see that his heart was racing from the way his pulse flickered in his neck. 

Gerard considered him for a long moment, humming to himself. When he spoke again, he did so with an air of a man who had made a decision at last. 

“Alright Frank,” He said firmly, “before we can officially begin I have to be sure that you understand the risk you’ll be under.” He levelled Frank with a hard stare. “Whilst I don’t think Azeroth Heron will ever suspect us - not if we’re careful - I can’t guarantee it. You saw what happened today… Are you prepared to risk that happening to you?”

Frank straightened his back and stood tall, his chin lifting just slightly. “I am.” He spoke without hesitation, holding Gerard’s gaze with confidence. As far as he was concerned, Azeroth Heron was making his life a misery at the castle anyway, and even if Frank had remained there as nothing but a lowly smith, it wouldn’t have kept him safe. 

“And do you swear to be loyal to me?” Gerard asked him, stepping closer. His eyes were so bright they looked gold, and Frank found himself going breathless as he looked at them. “If I apprentice you now, do you swear to do as you are told? To listen to my advice and to keep us, and this place, safe at all costs?” 

Frank didn’t even need to think about it. “Of course. Yes. I do.” He said quickly. “I swear.” He added as an afterthought. 

Satisfied, Gerard nodded, and offered Frank his hand. “Then… for now, we shake on it. And tonight, when the stars are out to bear witness, we shall make it binding.” 

Frank had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t care. He grabbed Gerard’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm, his skin tingling where their palms touched. 

“But first,” Gerard could see energy bursting around Frank, vibrant and beautiful and it made his own body thrum with excitement, “you shall help me make the perfume for the Queen, and I can see what skill you do or do not already possess.” 

Frank grinned, so excited to get started that he had already forgotten all about the hanging and Jamia’s sorrow and the supposed risk he was putting himself in. Life suddenly felt sweet and wonderful, and he followed Gerard to the side door that took them to the room of shelves, so happy he practically skipped along behind him.

Gerard kept his smile hidden, leading the way through the rows and rows of shelves, picking up ingredients as he went. He handed Frank the boxes and jars and pouches he collected, then turned around suddenly, almost bumping into him and sending it all flying. 

“Ah, sorry.” Gerard gasped, his cheeks tinging pink. “About turn, back the way we came.” He chuckled softly and steered Frank around himself with his hands on his shoulders. It was going to take him some time to get used to having another person around, he realised, but the thought didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

Back in the main room of the cottage, Gerard left Frank to take the various ingredients to the counter, whilst he went outside for “one more thing”. When he returned, he was holding a long, thin branch, absolutely loaded with tiny yellow flowers that were so fluffy they looked like pom-poms. Frank turned to stare at them, his eyes shining with joy as Gerard brought them closer. 

“Golden Mimosa,” He told Frank as he held the branch out to him, “smell.”

Frank obediently leaned forward, until the soft petals of the flower tickled his nose. He inhaled deeply, and stepped back with a soft laugh of surprise. Their scent was decidedly floral, but in a powdery sort of way that made him sneeze. Once the initial overpowering burst was over, Frank was left with a lingering scent that was sweet and delicate as honey. 

“I love it.” He laughed brightly, ever so tenderly brushing his hand along the length of the branch, feeling the fluffy fibres of the petals against his fingers. “Are these from your garden?”

“Yes.” Gerard looked pleased by Frank’s reaction. “If I can grow an ingredient, then I will… Everything else I get imported from all over the world. Like this.” He picked up one of the boxes they had brought out with them and opened it to reveal chips of a deep, red wood. “This is sandalwood, I use it in many of my floral perfumes because it adds a sort of… Mellow, butteriness.” 

Frank grinned slowly, unable to stop himself as Gerard put the box down and picked up a jar next. The man looked suddenly even more youthful than ever, his face gone open and light as he shared his passion. Frank wondered how long it had been since Gerard had had anyone to talk to about his craft.

“And this is iris butter,” Gerard opened the jar to let Frank see the gooey yellow substance inside, “I make it myself from the roots of the plant. It takes five years for them to mature properly, and then I steam them to make this.” Gerard closed the jar up again after Frank had given its contents a tentative sniff.

“I have the stalks here too.” Gerard grabbed a pouch and shook out a small handful of what looked like dry, shrivelled worms. “They add a muskiness to the perfume.” 

Frank watched as Gerard ever so carefully poured the stalks back into the pouch, as delicately as he might treat stained glass. 

“Are any of these magical?” He asked curiously, wondering how such items could be used in the craft when they were available for anyone. Golden Mimosa didn’t grow anywhere else that Frank had seen, but iris’s certainly did. 

“Anything is magic, if it’s treated right.” Gerard was looking fondly at his little pile of ingredients, like a mother might gaze upon her children. “These three ingredients specifically,” Gerard placed the iris butter, sandalwood and mimosa together, “will create a scent that is powerful as it is delicate. It will be grandiose, befitting a Queen, but… sweet and tender, like the young woman she is.” 

Frank felt heat creeping along the tips of his ears as he blushed, and he found himself suddenly wishing that Gerard would craft a scent for him too. The way he talked about the Queen then, with as much affection as a lover… Frank yearned to hear him speak about him in that way too.

Gerard looked distant for a moment as he gazed at the ingredients, but then he snapped out of it and turned his smile to Frank once more. “These ingredients, along with a careful cooking process and the power that I possess,” Gerard touched a hand to his own chest, “is what will imbue them with magical properties… In the same way that any smith can forge a dagger, it was only by _you_ forging this dagger,” Gerard picked up the moon-dagger that he had left on the counter, “and by _you_ following a ritual to imbue it with the power of the moon, that has given it it’s magical properties.”

Frank looked at the blade he had so carefully crafted and felt a flutter inside his chest. Could it really be so simple?

“But… That wasn’t me. I don’t think… I asked Luna to-”

“The Gods do not have anything to do with the craft.” Gerard interrupted him gently, shaking his head. “As I begin to teach you, you will quickly learn that there are no books on magic that mention your twelve Gods. The ability to practice the craft is something that is innate. It comes from _within_.” Gerard touched his fingertips to Frank’s chest, directly over his heart, making it beat so fast that Frank felt breathless.

“But… With no idea on how to perform magic or what ritual you would need, it doesn’t surprise me that you chose to turn to religion.” Gerard turned away and began to shake some of the sandalwood into a pestle and mortar. “By asking Luna to draw down the moon, you gave yourself permission to do it yourself.” Gerard looked at Frank, his eyes curious. “Of course… that doesn’t explain how you came by such power… but it wouldn’t be the first mystery I have encountered around the craft.”

Frank bit his lip, sceptical, and tried to remember exactly what he had done that night in Luna’s temple. Gerard’s words made sense to an extent, but Frank had been the one to do the ritual, and he still felt confident that he had done nothing but pray. 

“I don’t think I’m that powerful.” He said slowly, watching as Gerard ground up the sandalwood into a powder. “I’ve never done anything like that in my life.”

“I can believe that.” Gerard said, not unkindly. “But as I begin to teach you, we shall soon learn what power you do possess.” He smiled at Frank, giving no hint of the worry he held in his heart. If Frank really had drawn down the moon on his own, then they were dealing with a power unlike any Gerard had ever heard of in a mortal man… and if Frank _hadn’t_... Well, Gerard had never read The book of The Twelve before and he didn’t much like the idea of having to.

Frank sensed that the conversation was over, so he nodded politely and smiled when Gerard slid the mini cauldron closer to him, along with a spoon so long and so thin, it looked like it had been crafted by elves. 

“Take this and stir.” Gerard poured a small amount of liquid out of a bottle into the cauldron, and then added a spoonful of iris butter and the crushed sandalwood. “I’ll continue adding ingredients, and you stir in this pattern-” Gerard held his hands up, making sure Frank was paying close attention before he cupped one palm, and stirred his other hand above it to demonstration, “-three times clockwise, three times anti-clockwise, once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise, then repeat.” 

Frank felt a twinge of anxiety, worried he hadn’t quite paid enough attention, so Gerard made the motion again. “Three times clockwise, three times anti-clockwise, once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise, repeat.” He said again, slowly. “Got it?”

Frank bit his lip and carefully repeated the pattern outside of the cauldron first, waiting until Gerard nodded before he placed the spoon into the butter and sandalwood inside the cauldron. 

“I got it.” He said softly, though his hands were sweating nervously. “What happens if I mess it up?” 

Gerard gave Frank a long, silent look, waiting until the tension had risen to almost breaking point before he said, “don’t mess it up.”

Frank gulped.

Gerard turned back to the ingredients, hiding his smirk as Frank looked at the cauldron, brow furrowed in concentration and began to stir. 

“Three times clockwise… Three times anti-clockwise… Once clockwise, twice… yes, twice anti-clockwise, repeat. So, three times clockwise, three times anti-clockwise…” 

Gerard began chopping the iris stalks, pretending not to pay any attention to Frank’s mumbling. Gerard usually just charmed the spoon to stir itself, but he wanted Frank to feel useful, and there was something quite pleasant about the quiet lull of his voice beside him.


	8. Fivefold kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really didn't think I'd get this chapter out so soon guys, but writing the last couple of days has been just everything I needed to take my mind off sad things. With the state of the world at the minute, I hope it can be as much of a release for you too as it was for me <3 I've also forgot to say until now - I now have Twitter! Feel free to find me there and keep updated on the progress of my fics!

The perfume for the Queen was poured into a crystal bottle, with a beautiful pink marble stopper, and tied with a matching ribbon around the neck. Frank gazed in delight at the pink silk, having never seen fabric the colour of baby pink roses before. He was sure the Queen would love it.

Gerard lay the bottle tenderly into a silk lined box once it was done, and closed the lid delicately before tying that too in another pink ribbon. He then took the three blossoms that were left of the golden mimosa and slid them on their branch through the knot of the ribbon. 

“That looks beautiful.” Frank gushed, his eyes bright with pride. He had done little more than stir the concoction, and Gerard had allowed him to strain it into the bottle, but he still felt immensely satisfied by his day’s work. He was sure the Queen would be delighted with her gift, and Frank couldn’t wait to deliver it to her. 

“Is it magic?” He asked eagerly once Gerard picked up the box and placed it on the windowsill beside the door, to remind him in the morning to take it, not that he was likely to forget. 

“It is for protection.” Gerard nodded and turned back to Frank. “As was the perfume I gave to Jamia.” 

Frank flushed with emotion, touched by Gerard’s thoughtfulness and relieved to know that Jamia had something magical keeping her safe. 

“It’s not strong enough to protect them if Azeroth starts to suspect them.” Gerard warned Frank gently. “A spell strong enough for that can’t be contained in a bottle… but it should be enough to stop his gaze from turning their way when he’s in the mood to discover another ‘witch’.” Gerard said the word _witch_ like an expletive, spitting it out like it tasted foul. 

“Thank you.” Frank said softly, coming closer to Gerard as if to embrace him, but then he thought better of it and paused. “Anything to help them is… is more than I could have asked for.”

“You didn’t need to ask.” Gerard said simply, though he was smiling. “I only wish I could protect everyone.” He sighed heavily and began to walk about the cottage, clearing his supplies away. Even though the room was so cluttered, Frank got the impression that everything was in its rightful place. Gerard had been careful to clean up after them all afternoon.

“If I tried to make this perfume for every lady in the town, it’s effects would be lost.” He explained as he swept scattered iris roots into his palm. “If Azeroth’s gaze is diverted too much, he will soon realise it, and all it takes is for him to decide to sharpen his focus to break the charm.” 

Frank didn’t like the sound of that. He grimaced, pulse quickening, and glanced over at the box sat beside the door. 

“But if it’s so easy to break… Is it even worth it?” He asked nervously. “Shouldn’t we try something stronger?”

Gerard tipped the roots back into the pouch and closed it up, gathering them along with the other ingredients to take back into the storage room. 

“The one thing about the craft that you must learn Frank, is that it is delicate.” He sighed, disappearing through the side door with Frank hot on his heels. “Especially the sort of work I do here… Perfumes can hold a wide variety of charms, but their strength is limited. The stronger the magic you want to work, the more difficult it is to contain it… Like trying to trap a storm into a teacup.” 

Frank wasn’t sure he quite understood, but he nodded anyway, listening intently as Gerard carefully put everything back right where he had found it. 

“The protective charm in the perfume I will give to the Queen should work perfectly fine, because she and Jamia are the only two women in the realm who own it.” He was saying, trying to put Frank at ease again; he could feel his worry radiating from him. 

“Azeroth shouldn’t notice that his gaze is being turned away from them, because it’s most likely that his gaze will be pointing at the townsfolk anyway.” He explained, turning to find Frank barely a foot away from him. Gerard chuckled softly and grabbed Frank’s shoulders, turning him around as he had that afternoon and physically walking him back out the door.

“Can’t you protect everyone?” Frank asked as they stepped back into the main room of the cottage. “Isn’t there a spell strong enough?”

Gerard scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. “I’m sure there are plenty of charms that are strong enough; but they’ll be difficult to cast and even more difficult to control. The results will be unpredictable.” Gerard looked at Frank, his face stern. “Magic is a wild force, you must respect it like you would the ocean or the weather.” He said firmly. “We can use it to our advantage, and in some respects, even bend it to our will… but magic is not a fix-all solution to our problems. And those who use it as such, will soon find it comes with a heavy price.” 

Frank blushed, feeling as though he had said something to offend Gerard; but his answer had been just vague enough to give Frank no real explanation. He was bursting with even more questions, but too anxious to ask them.

“You will understand better when you take up your studying again.” Gerard sighed, brushing a hand through his hair and smoothing out his expression. He looked Frank over and then offered a weak smile, cocking his head to the side. “How about I show you your room?”

Frank’s eyebrows shot up and he couldn’t stop himself from beaming. “ _My_ room?” He repeated, barely believing he got his _own_ room. He hadn’t actually considered where he might sleep, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to simply get tossed a blanket by the fire.

“This way.” Gerard chuckled, beckoning for Frank to follow him upstairs. 

Frank hadn’t given the second floor of the cottage any thought, but he was stunned when the upper landing turned out to be entirely empty of clutter. The wooden floor was so clean it gleamed, and the only thing filling the space was a little table with various crystals upon on it, set right beneath the circular window at the end of the hall. 

“That little window gets the most sunlight.” Gerard told Frank, as if that explained anything. “My room is just here,” Gerard motioned the first door they passed, “and this room is yours.” There was only one other door, and Frank was practically vibrating with excitement as he turned the handle and let himself inside. 

“Oh… Oh Gerard…” He gasped as he stepped inside and felt a rush of disbelief. His eyes warmed with unshed tears and his lips twitched into a slow, sceptical smile. It felt too good to be true. 

“I know it’s not much-”

“It’s like a palace.” Frank gushed, cutting Gerard short as he tripped into the room. “It’s beautiful.” 

The space was not modest, and for Frank, who had slept in little more than a cupboard, it felt huge. There were even two windows; _two!_ , with a double bed pushed right between them. The bed had _four_ pillows, and perfectly smoothed out sheets and a knitted blanket in several beautiful colours. Frank couldn’t wait to dive into it.

There was also a proper wardrobe for his clothes, and various cupboards and drawers for belongings he didn’t possess. There was a small bookcase, and when Frank looked curiously at it’s contents, he found all the books that he had once had hidden under his bed in the forge. 

“I want you to read all of these.” Gerard said as he came up beside him. “I meant it when I said they were the foundation of your learning. I want you to set aside a few hours of each day to read.” 

“Okay.” Frank nodded, his smile never wavering. He turned to continue looking around, and he smiled curiously at the bundle of leaves that were smouldering in a shell above his fireplace. He realised that they were the cause of the fragrant smell in the room, the leaves bound so tightly together with string that they created a sort of stick.

“I’ll teach you about smudging tomorrow.” Gerard said softly as he watched Frank by the fireplace. “Incense has many useful applications, and it’s easy enough to learn. Making your own smudge sticks is a good introduction to the craft too.” Gerard came closer, until he was stood so close that Frank could touch him. “This has white sage, pine and lavender. It’s to cleanse the energy of this room, and welcome you into it. The lavender will help you sleep well tonight. I… I wasn’t sure if you might struggle, being in a new place.”

Frank looked at Gerard, so touched he could kiss him. He almost went to, one hand raised and halfway to cupping the back of Gerard’s neck before he realised what he was doing and shrank away again.

“Thank you.” He blushed, his heart racing with embarrassment. “That’s… the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

It was Gerard’s turn to blush, and he turned quickly away to try and hide it. It was such a simple thing he had done, and he’d done it more for traditional purposes than anything emotional, but seeing Frank’s obvious joy was making him feel sensitive. 

“Pumpkin!” Gerard suddenly blurted out, glad to see the cat curled up on Frank’s bed, giving him an excuse to walk away. “What are you doing in here? This isn’t your room.” Gerard spoke loudly, making a much bigger fuss than he needed to and feeling a little bit hysterical as he did. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks, and he desperately willed it away. 

“Come here cat.” Gerard stooped to scoop up the ginger feline, who opened one eye to glare at him. “This is Frank’s room.”

“She can stay.” Frank appeared suddenly at Gerard’s side, his eyes gone big and shiny as he gazed at the cat like a mother might look at her newborn child. “Hello cat… What’s her name?” He asked eagerly, reaching out his hand and keeping it a few inches away from Pumpkin’s face. She turned her head to look at him, her big green eyes assessing him critically before she decided she liked him and she stretched her neck, bumping her pink nose against Frank’s fingers. 

Frank squeaked and then bit down on his tongue, almost melting into the floor. 

“Her name is Pumpkin.” Gerard sighed, pretending to be annoyed even though he too was brimming with delight. “Don’t let her fool you. She knows she’s beautiful and she’ll toy with your emotions if you let her.”

Frank cackled at that and knelt down beside the bed, beaming as he slowly stroked the back of two fingers over Pumpkin’s head and between her ears. “I love her.” He sighed, tucking his fingers beneath her chin and giving her a little scratch. Pumpkin closed her eyes and purred her contentment, and Frank felt fit to burst. “Oh I just _love_ her. She can sleep in here with me if she wants to.”

Gerard couldn’t stop himself from smiling, though he rolled his eyes fondly. “She’s more active at night. But I’m sure she’ll make herself a nuisance to you one way or another, don’t worry.” He spoke with love, and he even reached out to pet the cat too, for just a moment.

Frank beamed, admiring Pumpkin for as long as he dared, but then she lay her head back down between her paws and he knew better than to keep bothering her. “I’ll let her sleep.” He whispered to Gerard, slowly standing up again. 

Gerard smiled, taking his own hand away from her. “I’ll make us some dinner.” He said softly. “Feel free to relax up here if you’d like, or you can join me downstairs. This is your home now too.” He walked to the door, but paused before stepping out. “We’ll need to be outside when the moon is at its peak, so don’t sleep too long if you’re planning to nap.”

Frank scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m too excited to sleep.” He said honestly. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Gerard smiled and stepped out of the room, pulling the door gently shut behind him. He didn’t really expect Frank to join him, but sure enough, just a few minutes later he appeared, one of the books from his bookcase tucked under his arm.

Gerard was glad to see him, though he was used to having no company. It was nice to have Frank sat beside the fire, reading his book quietly and asking a question every now and then whilst Gerard cooked. It was frightening how much Gerard liked it in fact, and he knew that it wouldn’t be very long before he’d be so used to it that going back to his lonely existence would feel impossible.

Pumpkin joined them as they sat down to eat, winding herself around their legs and meowing for food. Gerard rolled his eyes, like she didn’t do this every evening, and made a show of grumpily filling a little dish with strips of rabbit from his own bowl for her. 

Frank smiled as he watched them, eating his own bowlful of root vegetables and rabbit slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten three meals a day, and certainly not meals as substantial as these. The rabbit had been roasted over the fire, and the vegetables softened in a pan of butter. There were herbs laced through the dish, but Frank was used to eating plain, unseasoned food so he couldn’t say what they were. He only knew that it was delicious, and he was trying to wrap his head around the fact that this was going to be his new life.

He thought back to how skinny and boyish Jamia had looked in the stables, and how soft she became after being taken into the Queen’s group of ladies. Frank had felt betrayed at the time, like Jamia was trying to make herself look feminine for the Queen’s sake, but now he realised it was probably just that she had been underfed in the stables. If she was eating anywhere near as well as Frank was now (and probably even better), it was no wonder she had quickly developed hips and breasts and her arms had become soft rather than muscular. 

Thinking about her made Frank feel his first pang of homesickness, taking him by surprise. He didn’t miss the forge, and he doubted he ever would, but he did miss Jamia. Not seeing her every day was going to be hard, he realised, and he’d miss others too - like Rohan and Blind Mag, despite all her weird intricacies.

“Having second thoughts?” Gerard’s words broke Frank out of his mind, and he realised he’d been staring into his bowl and not eating for a while. 

“Oh! No, no not at all!” He hurried to say, looking at Gerard and shaking his head frantically. “I was just… thinking. But I’m not having second thoughts. I’d be crazy if I was!”

Gerard chuckled softly and smiled, getting to his feet, his bowl empty. “Good. Well, it’s nearly time for the binding vow.” He walked across the cottage and came back with a bottle of honey wine which he poured into two wooden cups. “The ritual will feel very strange to you, so I want to go through it with you first, so you know what to expect.”

Frank looked at Gerard, starting to feel nervous as he accepted the offered cup and drank some of the wine. It was sweet and spicy, and warmed him down to his core. He carried on eating with one hand, his eyes upturned to focus on Gerard as he listened to him.

“What’s it for?” Frank asked around a mouthful of carrot. “The ritual?”

“It’s a protective charm of sorts.” Gerard explained, leaning against one of the counters. “It was created by the witch covens to ensure loyalty and secrecy. In our case, it’s a vow we shall make to each other to keep each other safe.” Gerard sipped his wine and considered for a moment before continuing. “It can’t physically stop either of us from doing as we want; it’s not a spell that takes away freewill like that. But after the vow is made, if, for example, you decided to go to Azeroth Heron and tell him all about this place and the magic we do here, then you will be cursed.” 

“I’d probably end up dead if I went to Heron.” Frank scoffed, horrified at the mere idea of going to Azeroth. “But what do you mean _cursed?_ ” He asked nervously, not sure how he felt about having a curse dangling over his head for all eternity either. 

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Gerard admitted. “There’s never been a documented case of witches or warlocks turning on each other after making the vow. But I imagine it won’t be pleasant. It’s not a dark charm though, so it won’t be anything deadly… more like something that will out you as well. A black tongue or some sort of physical malady you won’t be able to reverse. And I would imagine all of your luck will sour, you’ll be unable to practice the craft, and you’ll probably end up alone.”

Frank grimaced, but it all sounded fairly reasonable. “I won’t be turning on you.” He said softly, putting his bowl down once he’d finished his food. “I don’t need to make a vow to know that. But I understand it’s for our protection, so I’m happy to do it.” 

Gerard was glad to hear it, but he wasn’t done. “Well then I’ll walk you through the ritual now.” He said. “And then we’ll head outside.”

***

The night air was warm and fragrant with the scent of evening flowers. The sky was clear and glistening with stars, and the moon was just reaching its peak when Gerard led Frank deep into the garden. 

They followed a path between various plants, barely noticeable in the dark. Soft petals and inquisitive leaves brushed over Frank’s skin as he followed close behind Gerard, his heart pounding with a nervous sort of excitement. He was wearing a long white robe, tied around the waist by a piece of rope, but he was completely nude underneath. 

Nudity, Gerard had explained, was commonplace in a lot of rituals. The craft was a gift of nature; they made their potions and charms from natural ingredients, and they cast spells by summoning energy from the universe. Clothes were a barrier to this energy, and for rituals that required the binding of two auras, there was no room for modesty.

It had all made perfect sense when Gerard had explained it, but Frank was feeling anxious as they traipsed barefoot through the garden. He wasn’t bashful about his body, and to be naked was one thing but… Naked with Gerard… Doing what the ritual required them to do…

Frank was grateful that it was dark enough outside for Gerard not to be able to see the blush on his cheeks.

Gerard lived far enough away from the town that no one ventured his way unless specifically to see him, but with Azeroth Heron conducting witch-hunts, they couldn’t be too careful. 

“I normally conduct my rituals here.” Gerard said softly as they passed through a wide space surrounded by flowerbeds. The grass was soft beneath their feet, and when Frank looked up he had an unobstructed view of the sky, but Gerard kept on walking. “Tonight I think we’ll have to use the space in the woods though, just to be sure we won’t be overseen.” 

Frank didn’t say anything and just went on following Gerard, walking beyond the garden and into the thicket of trees that bordered it at the very end. The trees here were widely spaced and sparse, but Frank knew that if they kept on walking up in the direction of the castle, the trees would become denser and taller, taking them into the forest where the meat for the palace was hunted.

Frank had always imagined the forest would feel eerie, especially at night, but being with Gerard made him feel safe and calm. He focused on the texture of the ground beneath his feet, going from soft grass to velvety earth. The forest floor was surprisingly springy, interspersed with so much moss and dropped pine needles that it didn’t hurt to walk across.

Gerard knew the area well, and he led Frank easily through the trees, just a short distance away from his own garden. The trees were so spaced apart here that there were dozens of clear spaces they could probably use for the ritual, but Gerard didn’t pause until he reached an area much more obviously designed for the occasion.

It didn’t look as though the trees had been cut down here, but rather that they had simply grown in a perfect circle. They were tall enough to be hundreds of years old, and yet they created a circular boundary that surely had to have been made by design. 

“Here we are.” Gerard whispered, laying down the supplies he had brought with them and turning to smile at Frank. “Take a seat for a while Frank, I’ll need to draw the circle first.”

Gerard had said as much in the cottage, so Frank simply nodded and sat down with his back against one of the trees. He pulled his robe close around him and tipped his head back, gazing up at the stars that he could see through the branches of the trees.

_The stars will bear witness_ Gerard had said. Looking at them then, Frank could believe that they truly were watching.

Gerard had brought a ball of string with them, and he began to unwind it then as he walked around the perimeter of the circle. He was whispering to himself, chanting something melodic as he took slow, measured steps. He walked about the circle two times, and on his third pass, he began to drape the string over the lowest branches of the trees.

Frank watched him, fascinated, whilst he weaved an intricate charm about them. The string dangled like vines from the branches, joining each tree to the next. Gerard walked about the circle so many times that Frank lost count, draping the string from different branches until the entire ball had been used up. Once he was done, he came back to his supplies and picked up a long thin rod made of wood. It had a crystal set into the top, and Frank had thought it was some sort of cane. 

“What-”

“Shh.” Gerard held up one finger, his eyes closed and head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet and dreamy that Frank wasn’t even sure if he was fully present anymore. “I must focus.”

Frank bit his lip to silence himself, swallowing his questions down, though he had so many of them.

Gerard placed the point of the rod into the ground and began to walk slowly about the circle again, drawing out its shape in the earth. Frank moved quickly out of the way, sitting inside the circle as Gerard came around him. Once he was done, the circle he had created in the mud was perfectly round, but he wasn’t done.

“I call upon the cardinal points.” Gerard spoke quietly, still in that same dreamy tone as he began to carve straight lines within the circle. “I call upon the North, and the element of earth.” He drew a symbol at the northernmost point, and then slowly walked backwards, stretching the line down to the southernmost point. “I call upon the South, and the element of fire.” Another symbol, and then he crossed to the east. “I call upon the East, and the element of air.” He backed off, pulling the rod through the dirt to draw a line to the west. “I call upon the West, and the element of water.” He drew the final symbol, moving the rod as gracefully as an artist might move a paintbrush. 

“For protection.” Gerard whispered as he began to move across the circle, drawing a five pointed star in perfect straight lines. “For clarity.” He drew an arrow shape next, pointing to the South. “For intention.” Another symbol, unlike any Frank had seen before. “For loyalty. For honesty. For strength.” Gerard kept on moving, his eyes closed, drawing symbols in the dirt. Frank’s heart began to race as he watched him, the hairs on his arms starting to stand on end. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he could feel the energy coming up through the earth, like it was charging their circle and the symbols Gerard was drawing. 

“For truth.” Gerard kept going, faster and faster, until the circle was full of symbols. “For power. For devotion. For learning. For trust. For protection. For protection. For protection.” Gerard came to a halt at last, standing in the centre of the circle, facing south. His eyelids fluttered, and then slowly, he began to open his eyes. 

Frank didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he inhaled sharply, the sound almost deafening in the quiet of the woods.

“Join me Frank.” Gerard staked the rod into the ground, at the circles centre. The crystal at its end seemed to glow all on its own.

Frank got to his feet and wobbled closer, his knees turned to mush. He had never felt power like that which was radiating around them now. It reminded him of the energy he had felt when he had first entered Gerard’s cottage; when he had sensed some sort of _otherness_. It was the same energy he felt now, and it made his pulse quicken and his nipples peak. Was this what raw magic felt like? 

“You remember all I told you.” Gerard asked softly, and when Frank looked into his face he was sure his eyes had gone a different colour. It could be the dark playing tricks on him, but he was sure that Gerard’s eyes looked green now, whereas before they had been a soft hazel. 

“I remember.” Frank was eager to demonstrate how well he could listen, and so he didn’t hesitate before fumbling at the rope belt around his waist. Gerard had walked him through the ritual in the cottage so he would know what to expect, but also so they could move seamlessly through it without Gerard having to direct him every step of the way. Frank could understand now that Gerard had to go to a different place to conduct the spell; a place of focus that needed Frank to guide himself. 

Gerard nodded his head in encouragement, and his soft smile was enough to flood Frank with confidence. He remembered everything Gerard had said, and he was eager to impress him. 

Gerard reached for his own belt, and in silence the two men pulled open their robes and allowed the material to slip from their shoulders.

Being here, in the woods, watched by the stars and standing in a circle charged with energy… Frank couldn’t remember anymore why he had ever felt nervous about baring his body. It felt _right_. He wanted to feel the power resonating around them on his naked flesh, wanted to drink it in like the rays of the sun, or the light of the moon.

Their white robes pooled around their feet, and Gerard held his hands out for Frank to take. Frank did so, keeping his eyes focused on Gerard’s face, his heart racing now from pure excitement. 

“I, Gerard Way, welcome thee, Frank Iero, to this, my circle of protection.” Gerard laced their fingers slowly, their arms creating a ring around the rod staked into the ground. 

“In the name of the mother, I am grateful.” Frank bowed his head as Gerard did, his eyes closing instinctively. 

“I make thee a vow to protect thee.” Gerard let go of one of Frank’s hands to draw a symbol on his forehead. “I make thee a vow to be loyal to thee. I make thee a vow to guide thee along a path of light.” 

Gerard took both of Frank’s hands again, and this time Frank let go with his other hand, reaching out to shakily draw the symbols Gerard had teached him onto his forehead. Gerard had to bend slightly so he could reach, his smile soft and encouraging. 

“I make thee a vow to protect thee.” Frank said softly, concentrating hard as he drew the five pointed star. “I make thee a vow to be loyal to thee. I make thee a vow to honour the path of light.” 

Gerard straightened up once Frank was done and their hands joined once more. 

“In the name of the mother, so mote it be.” Gerard stretched his arms out wide, Frank’s arms going with him. “I bow to you now in mutual respect.” Gerard dropped gracefully to one knee. He looked up at Frank, his expression unreadable, reaching out with both hands to gently grip Frank’s ankle and coax his foot up onto his bent knee. 

“May these feet carry thee along the path of light.” Gerard bowed to kiss the bridge of Frank’s foot, brushing his lips tenderly over the skin. He guided Frank’s foot back to the earth, and then lifted the other to kiss it too. 

“May these knees bend at the altar of the craft.” Gerard tipped his chin up, brushing his next kiss to Frank’s knees, first one and then the other. 

“May life spring eternal from thee.” Gerard began to shift upwards, his next kiss making Frank’s abdominal muscles clench. His lips brushed, soft as silk, against the skin just above the line of his pubic hair, and Frank’s breath hitched despite how he had been expecting it. 

“May these hands carry magic within them.” Gerard stood slowly, lifting each of Frank’s hands to his mouth to tenderly kiss each palm. 

“May this heart be ever loyal.” Gerard kissed Frank once above each of Frank’s nipples, which tightened at the sensation. 

“May this mouth speak only the truth.” Gerard tucked two fingers beneath Frank’s chin, tilting his head up so he could brush a whisper soft kiss to his lips.

It lasted barely a moment, but Frank’s heart felt ready to burst right out of his chest. His body tingled everywhere Gerard had kissed, and his lips parted, eager for more. 

It took him a moment to remember that he was supposed to be returning the blessings, but once he broke out of his stupor he rushed to drop to his knees. 

“M - May these feet lead me along the path of light.” He whispered, lifting Gerard’s feet one at a time onto his knee as Gerard had done. He was careful to be gentle, trying to make his touch as delicate as Gerard’s had been, though he was conscious of his calloused hands. He brushed soft kisses to the arches of Gerard’s feet, his pulse racing. 

“May these knees bend at the altar of the craft.” Frank kissed each of Gerard’s knees, starting to slow down as he reminded himself to take his time. His fingertips brushed against the underside of Gerard’s knees, feeling the velvety soft hairs of his legs. 

“May life spring eternal from thee…” Frank hesitated for a moment, trembling, before he slowly leaned in and brushed a tender kiss to the space above Gerard’s pubic hair. His lips lingered on the soft skin, drawn to the warmth on his mouth, but then he reluctantly moved on. 

“May these hands teach me the craft.” Frank rose to his feet as he took Gerard’s hands, kissing each of his palms one at a time. “May this heart be ever loyal.” He didn’t have to stoop at all to kiss above Gerard’s nipples, his lips brushing against his pale flesh. When he looked up after, he was sure his desire must be obvious. He could feel it’s warmth unfurling within him, swirling around his belly, making his pupils expand and his cheeks go pink. He only hoped that Gerard couldn’t tell in the dark. 

“May this mouth speak only the truth.” Frank surged up, but Gerard’s fingertips caught him before their lips could touch. Frank faltered, his heart racing, and felt panic start to blossom. Gerard just gazed at him calmly, his eyes so green they were like emeralds. 

“Blessed be.” He whispered, quiet but firm. 

“B - Blessed be.” Frank replied, whispering against Gerard’s fingertips. Gerard smiled and lowered his hand, and this time he didn’t stop him when Frank tiptoed up and captured his lips in a kiss that was entirely too much for the requirements of the ritual. 

Gerard seemed to be expecting it, and instead of pushing Frank away as he had expected, he simply pulled him in tighter and parted his lips with his own. Frank sighed into his mouth, his hands trembling as they pressed to Gerard’s chest and he felt an inquisitive sweep of tongue against his lower lip.

Gerard cupped one hand around the back of Frank’s neck, deepening the kiss for just a moment; just long enough to feel the heat expanding between them, and then he slowly pulled away again.

Frank’s eyelids fluttered open, his breathing heavy, and he gazed up into Gerard’s eyes like he was seeing him properly for the first time. Above him the stars were twinkling, and the energy around them seemed stronger than ever. Frank found himself leaning in again, eager for more, but Gerard gently stepped away from him.

“Not in the circle.” He said softly, letting Frank go and leaving an aching chasm between them. The rush of rejection was swift and cold, and Frank felt his confidence washing away as he mentally berated himself for being so foolish. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have I-”

“Shh.” Gerard hushed him quickly, and when Frank looked at him he saw that he was smiling. He was holding the rod again, drawing it slowly out of the ground, and with it his eyes seemed to dull down to their normal hazel colour. 

“I didn’t say no…” Gerard said quietly, and as the energy around them began to dim, Gerard began to look shy too. “I only said not in the circle.” He stooped to pick up their robes and handed Frank his. “Let’s go back home.”

Frank hastily pulled his robe back on, suddenly feeling exposed in his nudity. He looked away until he’d tied the belt around his waist again, and when he glanced back at Gerard it was to find him covered up too. 

They kept quiet as they cleared the circle, using their feet to brush the dirt over the symbols, hiding the evidence that they had ever been there. Then they worked together to pull the string from the branches of the trees, Frank winding it back into a ball whilst Gerard pulled it down. 

Once they were done, Gerard gathered the supplies into his arms and led Frank back out of the forest. When they reached the garden, Frank inhaled deeply, and felt something in him release. He felt calm again, and already the ritual in the woods was starting to feel like a dream. When he looked at Gerard, the warlock simply smiled back, and Frank felt the panic in his chest ease. 

_Not in the circle_ Gerard had said. 

Frank looked beyond the rows and rows of neatly sowed flowers, at the cottage beyond, and began to smile. The cottage wasn’t the circle. The cottage was _home_.


	9. M'lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am SO sorry this one took so long to get out! Life just seemed to get pretty hectic for a while there, but I am back in the game and hope that you're all still with me!   
> Thank you all so much for your kind words of encouragement so far, they really do push me to keep going <3 
> 
> p.s I promise Mikey and Grant will feature soon, just hang on a little longer for me friends!

At nineteen years old, Frank had never been like other young men his age. Sure, he’d kissed a couple of girls, but nothing ever came of it. The best kiss had been the one he’d shared with Jamia, but nothing had ever stirred those sort of _feelings_ in him that boys his age were supposed to feel.

It’s not like Frank had ever worried about it before; he was too busy to go chasing after girls anyway and even if he did fall in love or lust or anything in between, he didn’t have anything to offer. No money to speak of, no place of his own, no real prospects… he could just imagine Two Beard’s face if Frank had tried to sneak off to meet some maiden in the orchard - or worse, fell in love and asked to be allowed to marry.

But kissing Gerard… That most definitely had stirred _a lot_ of feelings within him. 

When they returned to the cottage, Gerard had announced that it was late and they ought to get some sleep, and had disappeared into his own room so quickly that Frank hadn’t been able to get a word out. He’d hovered awkwardly on the upstairs landing for a while, unsure of what to do, confused and alone… but then he’d slowly gone to his own room and slipped off his robe so he could climb naked into bed.

If the bed wasn’t so utterly wonderful, Frank was sure he wouldn’t have got a wink of sleep. But of course, lying in such luxury, with the scent of lavender still smoky in the air, made it impossible for him to do anything but drift pleasantly into dreams. 

When he woke the next morning, to the sound of Pumpkin meowing and scratching at the door, he woke to those same feelings still churning in his stomach; and if anything, they had only gotten stronger. 

“Sorry Pumpkin.” Frank rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slid out of bed, hurrying to get to the door and let the cat out into the hallway. He hadn’t even realised she was still inside when he’d gone to bed the night before, and he hoped she’d forgive him for trapping her inside. 

Frank shut the door quietly again and turned back into his room to get dressed. Golden sunlight was already filtering across the floor and he felt a guilty pang in his stomach for having slept in past dawn. Gerard hadn’t said that he ought to be up at any specific time, but Frank wasn’t used to getting up so late. 

As soon as he was dressed, Frank walked quietly downstairs. He felt a little nervous, especially after all that had happened in the woods last night, but he tried not to let it show as he stepped into the main room of the cottage. 

“Good morn-oh.” Frank fell short, his eyes going wide as he looked around. 

Gerard was standing by the fire, cooking what smelled like bacon and eggs, and the rest of the room was as neat and pristine as it had been when Jamia had accompanied Frank on the day Gerard gifted her the perfume. The counters were all spotless, the windows once again clean, and even the rafters were cobweb free.

“How do you…” Frank walked slowly into the room, shaking his head as if in a daze. “You cleaned up?”

Gerard turned at the sound of Frank’s voice and smiled. “It’s a glamour.” He chuckled, amused by Frank’s stunned expression. “I’m expecting a customer this morning. I always put up this glamour when I know I have customers coming.”

“Oh.” Frank supposed that must be why Gerard had snapped at him when he’d dropped in to see him that very first day. He’d barked at him that he wasn’t open for business, and had seemed irritated by Frank’s intrusion. Frank would be embarrassed too if someone came to see them when the cottage was in it’s usual state. 

“What do you do if someone shows up unexpectedly?” He asked curiously, coming closer to look into the fire. Gerard was gently shaking a long handled frying pan, getting the grease inside to coat all edges of the pan itself where it sat over the flames. Inside there was bacon, just as Frank had suspected, and also eggs. Frank’s stomach growled. 

“People don’t usually show up without making an appointment.” Gerard gave Frank a knowing look. “I run a very exclusive business you know… once a month I set up a stall in the market and people come to arrange a day to see me at the shop.” He motioned at the space around them. “Visits are by appointment only. So that I can ensure every customer is given a bespoke experience.” 

Frank wrinkled his nose up, not entirely sure if Gerard was teasing him or not. “So every person gets their own perfume?” He asked. 

“Of course.” Gerard looked surprised that Frank even needed to ask. “No two perfumes are the same. Not even Jamia and the Queen’s are the same, although they both do the same thing. A perfume must be tailored to the individual.” 

Frank made a soft noise in the back of his throat, a sort of hum of agreement and wonder. It all sounded fascinating, but he was sorely distracted by both the bacon and Gerard’s tight trousers which were hugging his hips in all the right places. 

“How long until the customer arrives?” He asked softly, trying not to stare at Gerard’s backside and failing completely. 

“Soon. But we’ll have time to eat first.” Gerard turned to gesture behind them and caught Frank staring. His cheeks went pink, but he couldn’t quite hide his pleased smile, even as he tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed a thing. “There’s a loaf of bread there. Will you be so kind as to slice it for us?”

Frank turned, his own cheeks flaming, and sure enough, a freshly baked loaf was waiting on the counter. Frank wasn’t sure if he simply hadn’t noticed it before, or if it hadn’t been there until that very second, but the answer was unimportant. His stomach growled again and he got to work quickly. Apparently, his body was already used to getting so well fed and was making sure its approval of a proper breakfast was being heard loud and clear.

“I don’t usually eat so well you know.” Frank spoke loudly to try and cover up the sound of his stomach. “Back at the forge, we just got sent down whatever scraps were left after all the palace servants had eaten; and with me being the apprentice, I always got the smallest portions.”

“Well it won’t be like that here.” Gerard flipped the bacon by making a motion with his fingers and all six rashers flipped daintily in unison. Grease sizzled around them, and Frank’s mouth watered. “Practising the craft uses a lot of energy. It’s just as important to eat well as it is to read your books and get a good night’s sleep.” 

Frank couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he carefully sliced the loaf. “I used a lot of energy as a blacksmith too.” He scoffed, wondering if the craft really was that more strenuous or if Gerard had simply forgotten that smiths spent all day hammering metal or working the bellows. “But three meals a day and a good night’s sleep sounds like a dream come true, so I’m not complaining.”

Gerard looked over his shoulder at Frank, smiling fondly. “Good. Because I stand by it, I don’t want to see you skipping meals or staying up too late.” He was mostly teasing; he couldn’t imagine Frank ever turning down a meal, and sometimes Gerard stayed up all night long… but then he always slept just as long afterwards.

Frank scoffed, that one noise making it clear what he thought about that. He was pretty sure he’d have to be dead before he’d skip a meal, especially one’s as delicious as he’d been having with Gerard.

Frank buttered the slices of bread he’d cut just in time for Gerard to come over with the pan. The handle alone was almost as long as the counter and Frank sniggered as Gerard set it down whilst still standing by the hearth. He smirked at Frank’s amusement, but said nothing as he used his hands to coax the bacon, eggs and bread into the air and set them down again neatly on two clay plates that floated down from the nook in the chimney breast. 

Frank’s mirth was replaced with wonder and he sank down onto the stool by the fire with his mouth hanging open. 

“I can’t wait for you to show me how to do that.” He said breathlessly, watching in amazement as Gerard coaxed the plates over and set Frank’s down delicately into his waiting hands. 

“Soon.” He promised him with a pleased smile. “But first you need to read those books and learn some basics. After we visit the Queen this afternoon, I’ll take you round the garden and start your education on the plants I grow.” Gerard sat down opposite Frank and tucked into his breakfast, his eyes alight with joy. He rather enjoyed showing off, it would seem, and it was nice to have such a awe-struck listener. 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Frank said honestly, dipping his bread into the yolk of his egg and grinning as he took an overly large bite. Life was feeling incredible, and he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was. 

“So…” He said after a short silence had passed and he’d polished off both his yolks and a slice of bacon. “Did our spell work last night?”

“Charm.” Gerard corrected him with a soft smile, using his fork to carefully fold a rasher of bacon onto his buttered bread. “And yes, it did.” He looked at Frank, the line of his cheekbones speckled with pink. “In fact, I would say it worked very well indeed…” He was starting to suspect that Frank was a lot more powerful than either of them were perhaps ready for, but he wasn’t about to say as much until he could be absolutely certain.

“So the kiss…” Frank looked down at his breakfast, trying to sound casual and not let his nerves show as he broached the subject that had never been far from his mind that morning. “That uh… that was just part of the charm, right?”

Gerard nodded without hesitation, laying down his fork as he looked at Frank. “Absolutely.” He said firmly. “A lot of coven-created magic uses intimacy as it’s drive. Magic is cast by charging energy, and physical touch is perhaps the easiest way to do that.” Gerard tried to sound clinical as he said it; like it should be viewed no differently than getting naked for a physician or shaking hands with a stranger. “Though I admit, that final kiss was more… intense than it perhaps needed to be.”

Frank’s blush deepened but he refused to feel ashamed. “I got a little carried away.” He agreed, daring to lift his gaze and peek at Gerard. “But when I kissed you it was like… Like I just couldn’t pull away.” 

Gerard looked slightly alarmed and his stomach churned. “I assure you, I cast no spell to make you feel that way.” He said quickly, hoping that Frank wasn’t worried he’d been taking advantage of him. “I would never-”

“What? No, no, no! I know _that_.” Frank couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered Gerard had become. “I wasn’t accusing you of doing anything like that. I only meant…” Frank paused, trying to summon his courage. “I only meant that I… Liked it.” He said quietly. 

Gerard’s eyebrows rose and his eyes went wide. For a moment he was speechless, but then he looked down into his plate and shook his head, trying not to laugh at the absurdity as he admitted, “I liked it too.” 

Frank sighed with relief, grinning as his spine sank back and he slumped on his stool. “Well… Good.” He said, laughing at his own loss for words. “So what does that mean for us?”

Gerard looked slightly alarmed by the question. He set his plate aside and stood to make them both a drink of hot nettle tea. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” He said slowly, setting the kettle on a hook over the fire. “We barely know each other, after all, and we have a lot of work to do in teaching you all you want to know about the craft.” Gerard wasn’t sure why he was feeling so flustered, it wasn’t like Frank was the first man to ever show his interest. 

“Besides,” He went on firmly, gathering steam, “It’s risky enough that we’re soon to be two warlocks in the same space. If anyone was to suspect that we were more than simple master and apprentice then…” Gerard trailed off, shuddering. He couldn’t imagine that Azeroth Heron liked sodomites anymore than he liked witches.

Frank frowned, rejection making him feel embarrassed. Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry after all. 

“Oh…” He put down his plate and sighed, confused. “So what did you mean when you said not in the circle?” He asked quietly. 

Gerard looked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”

“Last night.” Frank met his gaze bravely. “You said, _not in the circle_. I thought you meant that we could just… back here.” 

Gerard’s stomach swirled and his cheeks grew hot again. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made him feel so flustered. “Could what?” He asked, like he didn’t already know. He just wondered if Frank would be courageous enough to say it out loud. 

“Kiss.” Frank scoffed, apparently even braver than Gerard in that moment. “I thought we’d come back and…”

“What? Kiss each other all night long?” Gerard laughed at the very idea and Frank sighed, bowing his head. Gerard felt a pang of regret and he sat down slowly, biting his lip as he looked at Frank’s hurt expression. 

“I’m sorry Frank.” He used his magic to float Frank’s plate back onto his lap and tried to smile kindly at him. “I don’t mean to be unkind… and you’re right, when I said that in the circle I…” He swallowed hard, trying to be as honest as Frank had been. “I admit, I was getting carried away and only meant that we should continue somewhere else. You see… if we had continued in the circle, we might have overcharged the sigils and the charm would have become something… deeper.”

Gerard didn’t think it prudent to say that similar rune circles were used by some witches and warlocks as a type of wedding. If he and Frank had gotten carried away, the protection charm would have attached to them like a loving couple, which would have become supremely dangerous if one of them ever fell in love with another person.

Frank looked at Gerard again, scowling still but starting to soften. “So you _did_ want to keep kissing me?” He asked slowly.

Gerard’s head felt hot, but he nodded quickly before he could change his mind. “Yes I did.” He said honestly, not quite able to believe they were even having this conversation. “But I say again… We barely know each other, and there are lots of things we should be thinking about instead.”

Frank didn’t agree, but he was placated enough to start eating again, which in turn made Gerard relax. 

“It’s not like anyone would ever find out.” Frank said quietly around a mouthful of bread. “It’s not like we’d be flaunting what we are. I never even knew that there were people… like that. Like me.” 

“You mean… Men who kiss other men?” Gerard asked gently, smiling when Frank nodded. He hadn’t even considered that. Certainly, men couldn’t be honest if they had those inclinations, but that they existed was a simple truth. And women who loved women too, and all many other kinds of lovers that were outside of the norm. He hadn’t stopped to wonder that Frank wouldn’t have heard all that much about it in the forge. 

“There are lots of men like us.” He said softly, reaching out to gently touch Frank’s knee. “They live their lives secretly, but they exist. And there’s nothing wrong with it, you understand me? Nothing wrong with it at all.” 

Frank smiled warmly, laying his hand over Gerard’s and squeezing gently. “I know.” He chuckled, touched by the fierce way Gerard stood up for them. If there was one thing Frank was comfortable with, it was being an outsider. He’d been different all of his life… different enough to actively seek out the craft. Wanting to kiss men was just another string to his abnormal bow.

“So… just to be clear…” He said slowly, his eyes sparkling. “I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore?” 

Gerard opened his mouth to agree, but promptly shut it again. Frank’s eyes were so full of light and mischief, an impish sort of glee radiating from him, that it was intoxicating. Gerard had absolutely no plans whatsoever to fall in love with a young man just finding his feet in the world… but one look at those lips made him feel too weak to refuse. 

“Just… leave things to happen naturally.” He said eventually, feeling a fool even as he said it. Frank seemed to take the statement for permission, and perhaps it was, Gerard was too flustered and confused to know for sure. “Can you at least keep your hands to yourself long enough for me to get through this morning? This customer is very important.” He said weakly, making Frank laugh. 

“Yes sir.” He promised, taking an obnoxiously large bite of his bread and making Gerard sigh. 

“I knew I’d be getting myself into something when I apprenticed you. You have the energy of an imp about you.” 

Frank seemed to take that as a compliment and he went on grinning all through breakfast. His amusement was contagious, and no matter how Gerard tried to look stern, his lips kept twitching into a smile.

Once they had eaten, Gerard sent Frank outside to the well to wash the plates whilst he made them the tea and fed Pumpkin. She accepted a quick head scratch after she’d devoured her plate of leftover rabbit and then she went strutting out of the door into the garden just as Frank was returning. 

“Someone’s coming this way.” Frank let Gerard know as he carried the plates back to the alcove in the chimney. “Must be the customer.” 

“Excellent. Greet her when she arrives, I’ll just be a moment.” Gerard disappeared into the side room and returned a few minutes later with a tray of crystal bottles. The bell above the front door was tinkling merrily and a young woman was stepping inside. 

“Welcome.” Gerard greeted her before Frank could, placing the bottles on one of the counters and going to the lady to take her hand and draw her inside. “Nora, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes sir.” The woman smiled, looking at Frank with a quick, curious flick of her eyes. “Master Way, thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Gerard smiled, pulling a chair up to the counter so Nora could sit. “This is my apprentice Frank,” Gerard motioned towards him with his hand, “he will be listening to our appointment today as part of his training.” 

Nora nodded, smiling in Frank’s direction. She seemed unconcerned by his presence, and eager to get started. As soon as Gerard asked her what sort of perfume she was looking for, she had her answer ready. 

“I am to be married next month, Master Way, into a rich family in the city.” Her words left her in a rush, and her blue eyes were wide and anxious. “I haven’t met my husband to be, but I hear he is handsome and… and has his pick of women, one might say.” Nora blushed prettily, her eyes going downcast. “I would like a perfume to wear on our wedding day. Something that might… ensure his eyes do not wander.” 

Gerard nodded, his expression serious, one finger tapping his chin. “I know just the thing.” He said softly, smiling at Nora and making her own face light up. “Tell me more about your soon-to-be husband. What exactly do you know about him?”

As Nora spoke, Gerard took notes, nodding along and asking questions every now and then. Frank watched, bewildered, as Nora explained more about the family she was going to, and why. Her dowry was humble, but her father owned a good plot of land that the family wanted. As part of the sale, her marriage had been arranged, and despite never having met her betrothed, she was really quite smitten. She talked dreamily about his rumoured good looks and his prowess at archery; and her fears that he would not find her beautiful or that he simply did not have it in him to ‘settle down and become a husband and father’.

Frank thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but then he’d never understood arranged marriages. It was rare that people married for love, and yet love itself seemed so common. People fell in love all the time, and yet women were auctioned off to the highest bidders, or so it seemed. 

Still, Nora seemed enamoured with the idea of marriage, so Frank wasn’t about to burst her bubble when he knew so little about it really.

When she had finished speaking, Gerard brought the crystal bottles over and had her sniff each one and tell him what she thought of the scents. Once they’d been ranked from her favourite to least favourite, Gerard declared the whole process finished and stood to see her out. 

“I have all I need.” He smiled at her. “I shall create your perfume in the next few days. Come for it on Saturday morning, with the payment.”

If Nora found the whole process absurd, she didn’t show it. She seemed excited and overjoyed, and she clasped both of Gerard’s hands in her own to thank him earnestly before she left.

“I’m so excited.” She told him brightly, her eyes full of emotion. “I cannot wait to wear one of your famous scents at last. I just know that when I do, Percy will love me eternally.”

Frank watched Gerard see Nora to the door, his mouth hanging open. Once she had gone and the door was safely closed, Frank let go the snort he’d been holding in and looked at Gerard in bewilderment. 

“She was _crazy_.” He laughed, astounded. “Are they all like that?”

Gerard gave Frank a cool look, though he smiled as he walked to the bottles and began lining them neatly on the tray again. “I have a reputation.” He said simply. “People know that when they come to me, they’re getting something truly special. It makes them emotional.” 

Frank snorted again and got up to help Gerard take his things back into the side room. “So what now?” He asked eagerly. “Do you make her a love potion?”

“No.” Gerard gave Frank a hard look and shook his head. “I don’t make love potions. I don’t make anything that makes prisoners out of people like that.” He set the tray onto one of the shelves and backed Frank out of the side room. 

“What I will do is infuse her perfume with a few choice ingredients, which we shall choose when I take you round the garden this afternoon.” He shut the sideroom door and locked it, then waved his hand once to return the main room back to it’s usual state. 

Frank looked around in amazement as the pristine countertops and sparkling windows disappeared, and all the clutter, dust and debris he was used to appeared again. It made his head spin slightly, but he got the feeling he would soon be used to this. 

“Wow…” He breathed, shaking his head to try and reorient himself. “That’s incredible.” 

Gerard looked pleased, not quite able to hide his smile as he crossed the room and picked up a ribbon from a basket. “Glamors are a useful tool to have in your chest, so to speak.” He said as he turned to Frank. “I always wear one when I leave the house, it helps keep up my reputation. People see what they want to see, and it hasn’t failed me yet.” 

“Until you can cast your own, I will create one for you.” Gerard held the ribbon taunt between his hands and whispered softly to it. “In this ribbon let them find a disguise they make in their own mind.” He passed the ribbon through his fingers and then held it up with a pleased smile. 

“Wear this on any part of your body, and people will see you as my apprentice - whatever that means to them.” He handed Frank the ribbon, and then passed his hands over himself to cast his own glamor. 

Frank looked at the ribbon, slightly dubious, and then slowly wound it around his wrist. He tied it using one hand and his teeth, and then held his wrist up curiously. “Did it work? Oh!” No sooner had he spoken than a curious sensation came over him, like being dunked suddenly in cold water. His whole body erupted in goosebumps and he shuddered all over, but almost as quickly as it had come, the sensation passed, leaving behind a warm, tingling sensation. 

“Perfect.” Gerard was smiling, once again claid in the purple costume Frank had seen him in - no, _imagined_ him in the day before. Seeing it again made him laugh, and he gave a little twirl, wondering what Gerard must be seeing him in. 

“Do I look like your apprentice?” He asked playfully, and Gerard beamed. 

“You look wonderful.” 

***

“Frankie!” A mere five minutes after one of the royal servants had gone to alert the Queen to their presence, Jamia came barreling down the corridor towards them. She was wearing a gown of parchment yellow, with a skirt so full that she had to hoist it right over her ankles so she could run, the rest of the fabric spilling behind her like a little train. She looked ridiculous and beautiful and Frank beamed as she collided with him. 

“I’ve only been gone a day!” He laughed, hugging her tight and swinging her around. “Is this how you’ll greet me every time?” 

“No!” Jamia laughed, shoving him away and turning to hug Gerard too, surprising them all. “Master Way - Gerard - it’s wonderful to see you too, the Queen is delighted you’re here.” Jamia pulled away quickly, blushing hard. “Please, come with me.”

Jamia led them out of the main hall of the palace and down a long corridor lined with windows. She hooked her arms through Frank’s, asking him all about his day and night with Gerard. She seemed much happier than when they had seen her last, like she had forgotten all about the hanging, and Frank wasn’t about to bring it up. He told her about their visit from Nora that morning and how he’d helped Gerard make the Queen’s perfume, careful not to allude to anything at all magical, though he was dying to tell her the truth.

“It sounds wonderful.” Jamia sighed, sounding genuinely happy for Frank. She looked at him and squeezed his arm gently, her eyes bright. “We were just about to play some lawn games, but we’ve sent for some wine and tarts if you’d like to refresh yourselves with us.” She said in what Frank recognised as her _on the job_ voice. She had led them to a set of double doors, and as she opened one, they were taken into a large, circular room, furnished with beautiful cushioned benches and little tables with vases of flowers.

“Master Way, Frank.” The Queen was seated on one of the benches, with all her ladies in waiting around her, fussing over her like little hens. One girl was just finishing braiding the Queen’s hair, which had been studded with yellow jewels, the same shade as Jamia’s gown, though the Queen’s dress was far more ornate and in a beautiful egg-blue colour. 

“Your highness.” Frank and Gerard both bowed low, but the Queen just smiled and told them to rise again, as she too got to her feet. 

“Ladies, will you leave us?” She said as she came towards them, her heavy skirts making her look as though she was drifting across the floor. “Except you, Jamia.” 

Jamia curtsied, trying not to look smug as the other women all left the room. Once they were gone, the Queen took Gerard’s hands in her own, clasping them gently, before doing the same to Frank. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I wanted us to have a little privacy.” She spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. She looked happy and playful, like they were in the middle of some great game; her energy was contagious and Frank couldn’t stop himself from smiling too as they all went to sit together around the main table in the room. 

“Since you are all such good friends, I wanted to keep things informal.” The Queen explained, sitting beside Jamia and holding one of her hands in her lap. “Whilst we are together in this room, I’d like you to address me as Isabel. But it must remain secret, you understand? My enemies are always after excuses to make me sound like a foolish child, and having you address me by my name would just add fuel to their fire.”

“We would never allow that to happen.” Gerard assured her, smiling as he hesitated before adding, “Isabel” gently. 

The Queen beamed at them, her eyes shining. She looked more human, in Frank’s opinion, than she ever had before.

“We wanted to bring you the perfume I promised you your maj- Isabel.” Gerard corrected himself quickly and offered Isabel the box with the pink ribbon. She took it from him with a delighted smile and set it delicately in her lap. 

“My goodness, I didn’t really expect you to make it so quickly.” She admitted, pulling the end of the ribbon loose and opening the box slowly. She made a soft ‘ooh’ sound of delight when she saw the bottle within and used both hands to gently pull it free. 

“How beautiful.” She sighed, pulling the stopper out and inhaling deeply. Her eyelashes fluttered and Frank could practically feel the wave of nostalgia that washed over her. “Oh… It’s like no perfume I’ve ever had before… Master Way, you truly are the best at your craft.” 

“Call me Gerard, please.” Gerard looked thrilled, and he beamed as Jamia took the box from the Queen and set it down, before taking the bottle next so she could dab the perfume onto her neck and wrists herself. 

“I hope you will wear it everyday.” Gerard went on, his eyes taking in the tender way Jamia touched the perfume to Isabel’s skin, the energy between them sweet and obvious. Gerard wondered how Frank had never noticed it before, but a quick glance at him told him that he was still oblivious. 

“Sincerely,” Gerard turned back to the two women, “when either of you find yourselves running low, I would be glad to refill the bottles for you completely free of charge. So wear the perfume without hesitation.” 

Isabel smiled warmly at him, surprised and pleased. “Gerard, please. The first is a gift, but the rest I will insist on paying you for. It’s the least I can do.” She insisted, holding up a hand before Gerard could protest. “But I do promise to wear it every day. How can I not? It’s simply exquisite.”

That placated Gerard and he surrendered with a nod, sitting back in his seat. “You would be doing me a great honor.” He insisted, making Frank roll his eyes fondly. 

“I helped make it.” He chirped up, making Jamia laugh. Isabel smiled at him, her eyes sparkling as she giggled and thanked him for his ‘fine work’. 

“And are you happy in your new post?” She asked him curiously. “The forge has been in a disarray since you left, or so I hear.”

That surprised Frank, and it must have shown on his face. He opened his mouth to ask what the Queen meant, but was interrupted by servants coming in with the wine and tarts Jamia had mentioned. They all went quiet as the trays of tarts were spread out on the table, and silver wine goblets were filled with honey wine, but as soon as the servants had disappeared again, Jamia began to explain. 

“After you left, Two Beard went into quite the rage.” She said softly, glancing worriedly at Isabel. “I think he was angry that it meant he would be forced to work on Azeroth’s list…”

“Ugh, that list.” Isabel pulled a face and her earlier happiness immediately dimmed. “If I had known about it before…” But she couldn’t say what she wanted to, which was that she would have put an end to it, because she couldn’t. Even now, the smiths were all working on Heron’s terrible list, and the Queen had no choice but to allow it to happen. 

“I fear for this kingdom… If I could send that man away then I would. But without the High Priest’s support, if war was to come, we would be defenceless.” 

Frank was surprised that the Queen was telling them so much, and she quickly realised that she had said too much herself. She laughed awkwardly, trying to wave it all away with a flick of her hand. 

“But let’s not talk of such things.” She said hastily, lifting the tarts and offering them to them. “Please, eat.”

Frank reached out automatically to take one of the dainty pastries, the little round cases filled with various preserves. There were orange ones, red ones and green ones. He took a green out of curiosity, and found it was filled with gooseberry and elderflower.

Gerard took an orange, and nibbled it to discover the jam was orange and honey, spiced with cloves. “These are delicious.” He gasped, a little put out by how good they were. They had a lot they needed to be getting on with, but now Gerard simply wanted to sit in the palace all day eating sweets and drinking wine. 

“They are good, aren’t they?” Isabel looked relieved that the tarts had moved the conversation on so swiftly. “My favourite is the strawberry and rose.” She took one from the tray and held it to her lips, glancing at Jamia. “It’s as sweet as a lovers kiss.” She said quietly, almost to herself, making Jamia blush and Gerard almost choke. 

Frank, utterly unaware, just shoved the rest of the tart into his mouth so he could try one of the strawberry ones next. He was too busy thinking about Gerard’s kiss to notice that Isabel was looking at Jamia with such affection; affection that was clearly returned.

Gerard glanced at Frank and had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He had no doubt that Frank was an intelligent young man, but right then he just looked like an idiot. Gerard was surprised by how that warmed him, and his smile was as fond as it was exasperated as he ate the tart in his hand.

“I heard that you were at the hanging yesterday.” Isabel sighed, smiling sadly at them both. “I thank you for being so kind to Jamia. She told me how you were trying to protect her from seeing it.”

Jamia looked down at her feet, her own expression downcast, and Frank ached to reach out and squeeze her hand, but it was still clasped in the Queen’s. 

“I’m just sorry that we couldn’t have done more.” Gerard sighed, his own stomach swirling. “For Jamia… and for the poor woman who was killed yesterday. I have no doubt that she was innocent of what she was accused of.” 

Isabel nodded, her eyes curious as she looked at Gerard. “I think so too.” She agreed, though she spoke quietly, like she was afraid of being overheard. “The High Priest says that we have a scourge in his kingdom, and Azeroth Heron insists that he is cleansing the land…” She glanced around and then leaned forward, lowering her voice further. “Gerard, you live in the town… Have you… Seen anything?” She asked quietly. “Anything at all that would make you suspect that there really are witches amongst us?”

Frank accidentally inhaled some pastry crumbs and had to turn away quickly, trying desperately not to choke and to clear his throat quietly, whilst beside him Gerard went pale. Both men rushed to down a mouthful of their honey wine, and then Gerard spoke whilst Frank quietly hacked up the crumbs beside him.

“I honestly couldn’t say.” Gerard blushed, his heart racing. “I don’t believe I’d know a witch even if I saw one.” 

Isabel smiled at that, though it wasn’t a true smile. Frank could see a weight of anxiety on her shoulders then, and even he noticed the way Jamia squeezed Isabel’s hand and looked at her sadly. It occurred to Frank, as it had before, how very young Isabel was. Barely any older than him, and charged with so much responsibility. It seemed so simple, eating tarts in the afternoon, but they all knew what was going on outside the walls.

“Thank you for your honesty.” Isabel said quietly, forcing a smile as she picked up her goblet and took a sip. “Let’s talk about nicer things.”

Jamia effortlessly changed the subject for them, talking animatedly about how she had taught Frank to read, the two of them laughing about it now. Frank teased her for being bossy, and Isabel gushed over how quickly Frank had learned the new skill. An hour slipped away from them easily, and for a while life felt… good.

All too soon though Gerard was insisting that they had to move on. “We have much to do today, please forgive us for having to rush away.”

“Not at all.” Isabel stood to say goodbye to them, her smile warm as she kissed them each daintily on the cheek. “I have such a lovely time. Do please come along again whenever you wish.” 

Gerard thanked her, and Frank hugged Jamia goodbye before the two of them left; but no sooner had they stepped outside than Gerard popped the balloon of happiness that was inflating inside Frank. 

“We must be careful not to get too close to the Queen.” He said quietly, giving Frank an apologetic look. “The perfume will work best if Azeroth has no reason to turn his gaze to her. If you and I are around too often, and people begin to talk, it will draw unwanted attention.”

Frank pulled a face, wanting to insist that there was a way around it, but just thinking of Jamia or Isabel hanging from the gallows was enough to make him button his lip. He had had such a wonderful time that he ached to do it again, but he wasn’t about to put anyone at risk. 

“If… you think that’s best…” He said slowly, glancing at Gerard as they strode through the castle courtyard. “But I think the Queen would like a friend.”

“I think so too.” Gerard sighed, meeting Frank’s eyes and shaking his head sadly. “But we can’t be it. You must understand Frank… _We_ are the witches in this town.” He spoke so quietly that Frank half wondered if he’d only heard the words inside his own head, but they made him go pale. Gerard was right… Azeroth was going to tear through the kingdom looking for witches, and the only ones that they knew of were themselves. To be too close to anyone was to put them at risk. 

“You should be careful about spending too much time with Jamia as well.” Gerard went on, but Frank was already coming to that conclusion himself. 

“I know.” He said stiffly, trying not to let his pain show as they walked past the forge. Frank glanced over and quickly looked away again when he saw the unmistakable bulk of Azeroth Heron inside. He didn’t need to go in to know that there would be some discussion or argument about the list happening, and he hastened his steps so they could get away. 

“Let’s just go home.” He said quickly, practically jogging to the castle gates. 

In her usual spot, Blind Mag glanced at them as they went by and grinned a toothless smile. “Did you talk to her boy?” She called, making Frank look over in surprise. “Did you talk to the lady of the moon?”

Gerard frowned, trying to look over at Mag but Frank grabbed him by the wrist and pulled hard to make him keep moving. “Is she talking to us?” He asked curiously. 

“No.” Frank snapped, heart racing as he dragged Gerard out of the castle walls and into the main town. “Let’s go.”


	10. Fire and Ice

Sunlight beat down on Frank as he sat in the garden, legs crossed beneath him and hands black with dirt. He was mumbling to himself as he carefully wrapped twine around a bundle of fresh herbs and flowers that he’d collected on a trek around the garden, pulling the twine as tight as possible without severing anything.

“When ask the rose why she grows, she is ought to say, I spread my petals gayly sir, to brighten up the day.” Frank tied a careful knot at the top of the bundle of herbs and leaned down to bite the excess twine away, before picking up another handful of greenery and starting to bind that together too. As he did, he went on mumbling, brow furrowed in concentration;

“And should you ask the lavender, why doth you flourish yonder? He will stand up tall and say, for here I do not flounder.”

Behind a bed of various sprouting mint, a long meow sounded. Frank blushed and scoffed, pulling his twine a little too tight and losing a rose bud in the process. 

“It _nearly_ rhymes.” He said defensively, sitting up as tall as he could go so he could glare at Pumpkin who was sprawled on her back, soaking in the sun on her fluffy belly. “I’d like to hear you do better. How many words do you know that rhyme with _lavender?_ ”

Pumpkin didn’t even open her eyes, though the end of her tail did flick once. Frank huffed and sank back down, concentrating on his twine with a quiet, “thought so” to himself.

Beside him, a neat line of bound herbs and flowers were starting to dry in the sun. Each one was just slightly different to the next, and each one served a purpose. Making smudge sticks was something that Frank whole-heartedly enjoyed, and Gerard encouraged anything that meant he was showing an interest in the garden.

In the weeks that had passed since Frank’s education in the craft had begun, the garden had quickly proven to be the most important classroom. Gerard had taken Frank round it dozens of times, talking to him about the plants; how to care for them, what they meant, and what times of the year they would flourish. Frank had practised his writing skills by filling in a beautiful journal that Gerard had gifted him with all the information he was learning. 

Dozens of similar books filled the bookshelves in the cottage, but these were written by Gerard, accompanied with beautifully inked illustrations of the plants. Frank’s similar efforts were much more scruffy; his handwriting was okay but he kept smudging the ink or dripping great clots of it onto the parchment, and his drawings whilst much better than he’d expected them to be, were nothing compared to the images Gerard could create. 

“It all comes with practice.” Gerard had assured him one day, but Frank didn’t need any encouragement. He loved sitting in the garden, drawing the flowers and writing all Gerard had taught him; and he loved making smudge sticks and he loved reading his books on the craft. He especially loved making perfumes with Gerard, and even the tricky charm work that gave him a headache when he’d been at it too long made him happy too. 

Frank had simply never been happier. The days seemed to slip by like water in a stream, disappearing before he had any hope of catching them. He slept soundly at night, dreaming about magic or Gerard, and his days were so full that he simply didn’t have enough time to do everything that he wanted. 

Frank was so tucked up in his happy little bubble that he hadn’t seen Jamia for weeks; nor had he ventured into the town. Gerard had gone once each week to run his stall, but Frank hadn’t joined him yet. He chose to stay home on those occasions and read, since it was so difficult to concentrate when Gerard was around; even though Gerard kept to himself and didn’t disturb Frank when he was reading, undoubtedly Frank would end up pining for him or wondering what excuse he could make to be in Gerard’s company again… and if he tried to read in the same room as him, he just ended up watching Gerard instead.

His attraction for the other man hadn’t lessened at all in the weeks they had spent together; if anything, it just grew stronger every day. Frank had managed to steal the odd touch here and there, and had even brushed a couple of light kisses to Gerard’s lips when the moment had presented itself; but the kisses never turned into much, and he got the feeling that Gerard was holding him at arm’s length, though Frank couldn’t figure out why.

Once he finished tying the last of his bundles, he gathered them all up into a little basket and rose to his feet. He brushed dirt and grass from his knees, and went to the well just outside the cottage to wash his hands, before stepping into the cottage itself. 

The little bell above the door announced his presence, and Gerard turned to smile at him from where he was grinding ingredients with a pestle and mortar. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.” He said playfully, his eyes bright as he looked at Frank. 

“I thought I’d tie the sticks whilst I was outside.” Frank shrugged, his own smile just as fond as he walked to the counter and put his basket down beside Gerard. “I’ve been practicing my rhyming, but Pumpkin wasn’t very impressed.” He scoffed, his grin playful. 

“Well, Pumpkin is a good judge of these sorts of things. If she wasn’t impressed then you need to practice more.” Gerard said seriously, pausing in his grinding so he could look into the basket and admire the neatly bound smudge sticks. 

“I was trying to rhyme the word _lavender_.” Frank said defensively. “What would _you_ rhyme that with?”

Gerard thought about it for a moment, but then he started to chuckle. “Alright, that’s a tricky one.” He agreed. “Perhaps, _have under?_ ” He suggested, picking up one of the bundles and turning it over in his hands. 

“I despise poetry.” Frank sighed dramatically, though that wasn’t true at all. He liked poetry well enough when Gerard was the one reciting it. “Rhyming is hard.”

“A poem and a rhyme are not the same thing.” Gerard smiled, putting the herbs back into the basket. “But I hated it too when I first started my training. It gets easier… and it’s well worth it. Especially in the beginning.”

“I know, I know.” Frank rolled his eyes fondly and looked up at the rafters above their head. Rhyming was a sure-fire way of putting energy into a charm or spell, Gerard had taught him. Whilst he was still learning to harness the energy he had within him, things like rhyming, wands and sigils could help him channel the forces around him to power his magic. He couldn’t walk around with a wand when out in public, and sigils took time to create, so rhyming couplets were his most powerful ally at least for now. 

“I can’t wait until I can just…” Frank made a wiggling motion with his fingers. “ _Do stuff_ like you can.” He pointed at the smudge sticks he had made and slowly lifted his fingers, trying desperately to float them up to the ceiling, but they didn’t so much as budge. 

“You’ll get there.” Gerard glanced at Frank out of the corner of his eyes, once again grinding the seeds in his mortar. “Remember what I told you, focus, don't strain.”

Frank immediately stopped scowling and closed his eyes, trying to relax the muscles that had gone tense with exertion. He tried to concentrate on floating the smudge sticks to the rafters where they could dry, without giving into the temptation to ‘push’ his energy out. 

“Focus…” Gerard whispered quietly beside him. “Use your words if you need to.”

But Frank didn’t want to make up silly little charms to lift his smudge sticks into the air. Gerard could move things around like it was easy, and he was determined to be the same. He smoothed out his frown once again and breathed deep, willing the smudge sticks to lift, lift, _lift_.

Gerard’s soft intake of breath made Frank open his eyes and he gasped when he saw that not only had one smudge stick risen, as he had been trying to do, but the entire basketful was now floating around their heads. 

“I did it!” Frank beamed, so surprised and thrilled that he forgot to concentrate and the sticks came tumbling down again. 

Gerard quickly lifted his arms to shield himself from the barrage of flowery sticks that rained down on them, but Frank just went on looking up with a devastated expression on his face. The sight of it made Gerard snort with laughter, and he took pity on him long enough to float his smudge sticks back into the basket. 

“That was good.” He said earnestly, still laughing as he patted Frank’s back. “Go ahead and try again.” 

Frank glared at Gerard, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. He gave a soft huff and turned back to the basket, concentrating as he pointed at the smudge sticks again, and tried once more to lift them. 

Gerard watched silently as Frank breathed deep and tried to concentrate without forcing anything. He was staring at the smudge sticks with intent, and Gerard could practically feel the way he was willing them to move. 

It took a moment, but then the sticks on top began to shift, lifting shakily at first but then levelling out when Frank’s confidence surged. Gerard grinned, stepping back as the smudge sticks began to rise properly; but then the bell above the door began to tinkle incessantly and Frank’s concentration broke. 

“Damn!” Frank cursed as the sticks dropped back into the basket, turning to glare at the bell. “What’s going on?” 

The bell that usually only rang when the door opened was swinging from side to side entirely on it’s own, it’s light jingling sounding somehow ominous. Frank looked at Gerard, brow furrowed in confusion, and immediately felt a nervous panic settle in his stomach when he saw the look on Gerard’s face. 

“Someone’s coming.” Gerard said softly, his gaze fixed on the bell. “Someone bad.” He strode to the door with long steps, waving his hands quickly to bring the glamour over the shop that they used for customers. The clutter and the mess disappeared, and Frank’s basket of smudge sticks zoomed away out of sight. Frank watched it go with a dumbfounded expression, then turned to rush to Gerard’s side. 

“Who?” He tiptoed up to peer over Gerard’s shoulder as he opened the door a crack and looked out. 

Outside, the sun was shining as brightly as ever and bees and butterflies were bobbing about the flowers. It looked calm and tranquil, but then Pumpkin came shooting into the cottage, her tail held out straight behind her, and Frank noticed a figure coming closer down the road that stretched between them and the town. Even at a distance, it could only be one person. 

“Oh fuck.” Frank whispered, nausea swelling in him when he realised that Azeroth Heron was coming their way. He darted back a few steps, almost falling over Pumpkin who was hovering behind his feet. 

“Stay calm.” Gerard said firmly, slamming the door shut and whirling around to look at Frank. He looked him over critically, at his brown breeches and loose white shirt. Neither of them dressed up when they were just at home together, but looking at Frank then, Gerard knew that all Azeroth Heron was going to see was two men practically in their underwear. 

“You need a glamour.” Gerard sized a ribbon from the basket by the door and charmed it so fast that all Frank could see was his lips moving rapidly. “Hand.” He ordered, and Frank held his arm out without thinking. Gerard tied the ribbon around his wrist with deft fingers, pulling it tight. Frank felt the familiar cold sensation going down his body, and then warmth replaced it. 

“Better?” He asked nervously. 

“Much.” Gerard nodded, stepping back and snapping his fingers loudly. His own outfit immediately morphed, his tight trousers turning to more traditional breeches, half hidden beneath a long but simple tunic, the fabric in a rich blue to show off his wealth. 

Frank wondered what his own glamour looked like, but when he looked down, he only saw his own clothes. 

Just in time, the bell above the door fell silent and Gerard seized Frank by the hand, dragging him quickly to the nearest counter where he produced a pestle and mortar as if from thin air. Through one window an assortment of flowers and plants from the garden came zooming in like arrows, before dropping silently onto their counter. 

Barely a heartbeat later, the bell above the door jingled again as Azeroth Heron let himself inside without knocking.

Frank tried to school his expression into one of simple surprise, rather than the pure terror he was feeling. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it was vibrating in his chest, but when he glanced at Gerard, he was astounded by how calm and composed the man was. 

“Ah, welcome.” He said pleasantly, turning to face Azeroth with a curious smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Master… Heron, wasn’t it?”

“Correct.” Azeroth returned the smile and strode across the cottage, hand outstretched for Gerard to take once they were close enough. “We met briefly at the palace, Master Way.”

“I remember.” Gerard clasped Azeroth’s hand and shook it, showing no sign of the nausea that Frank was feeling on his behalf just looking at those long, white fingers touching his. Azeroth’s usual black robes were long and heavy looking, and Frank had to grit his teeth to resist the urge to stand back, afraid that the material might touch him. 

“I hope I am not intruding.” Azeroth looked curiously at the flowers on the counter. “I was hoping I might have a moment of your time.” He looked at Frank then, still smiling faintly. “Both of you.”

Frank’s stomach swirled even more, threatening to bring up his breakfast. He looked at Gerard, secretly hoping he would tell Azeroth they were too busy and make him leave, but of course he couldn’t. 

“Of course.” Gerard made a show of putting everything to one side, as if they had been in the middle of something. “Can I get you any refreshment sir? Perhaps some peppermint tea?” 

“Lovely.” Azeroth’s smile never quite reached his eyes, which were dark and cold. He took a seat beside the fire without being asked, and clasped his hands over one knee.

“Frank, would you collect some mint from the garden?” Gerard asked him calmly. 

“Yes sir.” Frank turned and walked out of the cottage at a purposefully steady pace, but as soon as he was outside he broke into a run. 

The herb garden was close to the door, but Frank ran right past it and kept on going. Being around Azeroth made him feel like fleeing, and for a moment he just had to run and get the urge out of his system. He ran until he reached the edge of the woods, and then he collapsed down onto the ground, panting hard.

If Gerard wasn’t in the cottage then Frank didn’t think he’d return at all. It was only the knowledge that he had abandoned him with the witch hunter that made him get back to his feet once he’d caught his breath. He felt sick and frightened, but he forced himself to set that all aside and be brave; Azeroth probably didn’t suspect them at all, but if he did… Frank knew he couldn’t just run away and leave Gerard to face him. 

When he returned to the cottage - with water from the well and the peppermint - the look of relief on Gerard’s face made Frank wonder if Gerard had half expected him to not come back. His surprise quickly morphed to something else, something solid… If Gerard had ever doubted his loyalty, then he was determined to prove it now. 

“Thank you.” Gerard whispered as he took the bucket of water and bundle of herbs, his tone soft and sincere. He looked deep into Frank’s eyes for a moment, long enough to make Frank go all hot and tingly all over, and then he turned away to make the tea.

“So, what did you want to talk to us about?” Gerard asked casually as he filled the kettle with the water from the bucket. He hung the kettle on a hook over the fire and tore the peppermint straight into it. 

“Oh, nothing terribly important.” Azeroth said airily, his eyes fixing on Frank. “I must confess, I was mostly curious to see how young Frank here was getting on with his new apprenticeship.”

“Very well.” Gerard answered before Frank could. “He has a great talent for crafting scents. I am very pleased with his progress.”

Frank blushed and his lips tugged into the faintest of smiles. He couldn’t seem to find his tongue with Azeroth looking right at him, but he hoped that would just make him appear like an especially obedient apprentice. 

“That is well.” Azeroth didn’t move his eyes away from Frank. “I was saddened to hear that you had left the forge. The work I saw you do there was… exceptional.”

Frank’s blush intensified, but this time he didn’t feel comfortable about the praise. “Thank you sir.” He said quietly. 

“Not to talk badly of your old master,” Azeroth went on softly, tilting his head to the side, “but Two Beard does some to be… reluctant… in following my requests. The list I gave him for the new inquisition chamber took him two weeks longer than I had anticipated.” 

_Inquisition chamber_ , was that what he was calling it? Frank almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. 

“The heretics fork you made for me was beautifully crafted.” Azeroth seemed to be leading to something, and Frank’s stomach was tying itself up in knots. “You can imagine my surprise when Two Beard’s work did not seem to be up to the same standard.” 

Frank glanced uneasily at Gerard, unsure of what to say, but Gerard was too busy with the tea and wasn’t looking at him. 

“I wonder, Frank, if you might be willing to return to the forge on a temporary basis.” Azeroth’s dark eyes felt like they were flaying Frank alive. “Even if only for a couple of days a week. I would pay you handsomely for it, and you would be working entirely for me. I need your skills at my disposal.” 

Frank felt like he had been doused in cold water. His mouth hung open in surprise, and he hurried to snap it shut again. He looked desperately at Gerard, and was glad to see that he was at least listening. He looked just as astonished as Frank felt, his eyes wide. 

“Forgive me sir, but I would be grateful if you said no more about your offer.” Gerard found his voice quickly and when he spoke, he did so with a sternness Frank had never heard from him before. “Frank is now _my_ apprentice and we are far too busy for him to have any spare time to share.” 

Azeroth’s eyes flicked to Gerard without his head moving. He reminded Frank of a lizard and his skin crawled. “Is that so?” He asked, making a point of glancing around the room, empty but for the three of them. “You don’t look terribly busy.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Gerard said through gritted teeth. “The perfumes we make are the best in the world.” He said strongly, unhooking the kettle when it began to whistle and pouring three cups of the hot, minty water with such force that some slopped over the edges. “I make a point of never working on a scent when customers are around. As such, we have to split our days between crafting the scents, and meeting with customers. I’m sure you can understand why it is therefore not possible for Frank to return to the forge, not even for a day or two.”

Azeroth didn’t look like he understood at all, but he didn’t argue outright. He accepted his tea with a polite ‘thank you’ and tried a sip. 

“Your reputation speaks for itself Master Way.” He said softly. “And I hope you shall forgive me for persisting.” Those dark eyes drifted to Frank again. “I will pay you whatever you wish.” He told him calmly. “Name your price. I have a list of items I need forging. My new suggestion is this - you come back to the forge for as long as it takes you to create said items, and then once you are done, you can return here to Master Way if you wish. Or you may go wherever else you could desire, I will see to it that you are rich enough.” 

Frank could barely register the offer, his mind was so stuck on the word _list_. He couldn’t imagine what sort of list Azeroth had now, if he was feeling the need to bypass Two Beard completely. But one thing was certain, no amount of gold or riches would be enough to persuade Frank to work for this man. 

“I thank you for your generous offer,” He said slowly, trying to speak calmly and politely, when all he wanted to do was throw the scalding hot tea into Azeroth’s face, “but I must refuse.” Frank looked at Gerard and his chest squeezed tight. He would risk death to stay with this man, he knew that with every fibre of his being. 

“The simple truth is… I hated that forge.” Frank forced himself to look at Azeroth right in the eyes and hold his gaze, even as it chilled him to the core. “I was forced to work there since I was a child. I despised the work and I despised my life, and there is nothing - _nothing_ you could offer me that would persuade me to return.” 

Both Azeroth and Gerard were silent, but Frank could sense their surprise. He took a deep breath and stood up tall, fists clenched with determination. Gerard was looking at him like he was seeing him properly for the first time, and even Azeroth looked impressed. 

“You are a man of integrity.” He said at last, his soft voice creeping down Frank’s spine like fingers drumming on his skin. “I can respect that. There are not many who could resist an offer for so much gold.” 

Frank wanted to tell Azeroth that wealth meant nothing to him, but he bit his tongue. If Azeroth thought for one second that he had simply offered the wrong thing, then Frank had no doubt that he would try to offer him something else. 

“Well…” Azeroth sighed heavily and sipped his tea, shaking his head. “I will admit I am disappointed. But this doesn’t mean you cannot help me at all.” He looked up at them both then, and his lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile.

“It would be a great help to me to have you both as my allies.” He said sweetly. “My reputation precedes me, when I come into the town, people flee and hide, even the innocent.” He sipped his tea, going quiet for a moment as if in thought. 

Frank glanced at Gerard, fighting against the swirl of emotions that made him want to scream. He was dying to tell Azeroth _no_ , whatever he wanted, he would not be his ally. But Frank knew things could not be so simple, and when he looked at Gerard, he could see that he knew it too. 

“I’m not sure what you want us to do?” Gerard said slowly, somehow still managing to look calm and curious. “We do not often go into the town…”

“But when you do, I’m sure you do not attract much attention.” Azeroth smiled at them. “Especially you Frank?” 

Frank opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond. There was no point in denying it, why would anyone pay attention to him? He was just a young man… an apprentice… there was nothing remarkable about him. Not as far as the townsfolk were aware anyway. 

“I simply ask that when you _do_ go into the town, you will keep your eyes and ears open.” Azeroth looked up at them, and Frank was sure that his eyes had gone even darker. “Report back to me with anything you see or hear that could be considered… suspect.” 

“I don’t understand.” Gerard spoke firmer now, and his calm expression morphed into a frown. “You are a witch hunter, correct?” 

Azeroth turned his head slowly to look at Gerard. “That’s right.” He said coolly. 

“Well, we are not.” Gerard gestured between himself and Frank. “We wouldn’t know what to look out for. If anyone in this town is a witch then they are not making it obvious enough for us to notice. In fact, I would argue that _no one_ here is-”

“Then you would be wrong.” Azeroth interrupted Gerard easily, even without raising his voice. He put his cup down and rose to his feet, towering above them. Stood so close, Frank felt as though they were being swallowed in shadow. 

“That there are witches in this town, I have no doubt.” Azeroth said coldly, his eyes moving slowly to take both Frank and Gerard in. “In fact, not only am I sure that there are witches; but I believe I am in the heart of the most dangerous plague that this kingdom has ever seen. There _are_ witches in this town, sir. And I suspect there are _many_. If you insist that you cannot find even a hint of them, then I must assume that you are either ignorant or a liar.” 

Frank’s heart skipped a beat and a dagger of ice slipped down his sternum, making his lungs constrict. He stepped forward, holding an arm out as if to hold Gerard back and spoke up before he could. 

“We will keep our eyes and ears open.” He said firmly, looking at Azeroth with a smile that he hoped looked obedient and warm, even as his pulse thundered in his ears. “If there’s anything suspicious going on, we will hear of it, and we will let you know.” 

Gerard looked at Frank in alarm, but he knew better than to speak over him. He looked at Azeroth instead and forced a smile too, though it was slightly sour. 

“Forgive me.” He said stiffly. “I confess that I am afraid… But Frank is right. We will do our best to report to you anything that may need your attention.” 

Azeroth looked between the two men, deciding whether or not he believed them. Gerard’s admission to being afraid of witches made his mind up for him; no man would lie about being afraid, quite the opposite, and he respected the honesty he perceived. 

“I thank you both.” He nodded, reaching out to clasp each of their hands in turn. “It is important that no one suspects that you are working with me. If you suspect anyone, then write their name down and slip the paper into the blessings box at the Temple of the Twelve in town. It will find its way to me, and I shall make my enquiries.” 

Gerard looked at Frank, but it was too late for either of them to try and back out now. Frank nodded first, too mortified to speak, and then Gerard agreed silently too. 

“Very good.” Azeroth looked pleased. “I shall leave you both to your… busy schedule.” 

Gerard had enough composure left to walk Azeroth to the door, seeing him out with a forced smile and a quiet farewell. Azeroth turned to look over his shoulder at Frank just before he left, and his dark eyes seemed to glitter with malice. 

“Have a pleasant day, gentlemen.” He said politely, then turned away with a swirl of his black robe. 

As soon as the door was shut tight behind him, Frank turned and inhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. When he let it go again, it came out more like a sob and he folded in half, sinking down onto his haunches with his hands in his hair. 

Gerard stepped towards him, but then held himself back, like he was tethered to the door. He looked back over his shoulder, waiting until he could see Azeroth far in the distance, and only once he was sure that they were safe did he rush to Frank’s side. 

Frank gasped when he felt Gerard’s hands on his shoulders, but then he turned to meet him, falling forward into his arms and burying his face in his chest. He let all of his fear out with a soft wail that he muffled in Gerard’s shirt, and Gerard just rocked him and let him cry.

“I know.” He whispered, tucking one hand against the nape of Frank’s neck to support him against his chest. “It’s okay. I know.” 

Frank wrapped his arms tight around Gerard and held on like he was afraid he would fall away if he didn’t. Being around Azeroth Heron was never good, but right then Frank felt like he’d been stripped apart. He felt like they’d made a deal with Heleshki themself, a deal more dangerous than their lives were worth. 

“Frank, shh.” Gerard held Frank tighter when Frank’s crying grew worse, making his own chest twinge with pain. “It’s okay. We’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

“H - How can you p - promise?” Frank demanded, pulling back just enough to look up into Gerard’s kind eyes, blurred slightly by his tears. “He will n - never leave us alone now!”

“It’s okay.” Gerard insisted, cupping Frank’s face with his other hand. He used his thumb to wipe at his tears, the moisture hot on his skin. “I’m not going to let him hurt you. I would never let that happen, you understand me?” Gerard tucked his thumb under Frank’s chin and pushed his head up, making sure he was looking at him properly. 

“B -But-”

“No.” Gerard silenced him sternly. “I need you to trust me Frank. I’m not going to let him hurt you. I _promise_.” 

Frank’s tears began to slow as he tried to sniff them away. He looked at Gerard in wonder, his lips parted and eyes wide, and felt his pulse quicken for an entirely different reason. 

“Do you trust me?” Gerard asked, softer this time. 

“Yes.” Frank didn’t even have to think about it. He reached up to curl his fingers around Gerard’s, breathing deep to calm himself down. “I do trust you Gerard.”

Gerard smiled, and without thinking he drew Frank in closer, so close that their lips simply had to touch. This was not entirely out of the ordinary for them, and Frank went to move away like they always did; but this time Gerard pulled him in even closer and deepened the kiss with a light swipe of his tongue.

Frank made a soft noise of surprise, but sank eagerly into Gerard’s arms. They were crouched down between the counters, and Frank’s thighs burned from the effort of staying upright, but he wasn’t about to stop kissing Gerard for the world. It felt _right_ , and when they kissed like this - mouths open and hands tangled in one another’s hair - he could feel something between them that just made him think of _magic_. It felt like a beacon of light, surrounding them and shining up to the Gods, filling them both with an energy that was ancient and pure.

Gerard moved away first, and Frank whined softly, trying to drag him back in. 

“Enough…” Gerard laughed breathlessly and stood up with a low groan of effort. He pulled Frank to his feet too and couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the flushed look on Frank’s face. 

“We can’t get carried away.” He said softly, though he wanted nothing more. “We have too much work to do now.” The first thing on Gerard’s agenda was seeing this Temple of the Twelve Azeroth had mentioned, and the box they were to put the names of suspected witches into. But before he could say as much, Frank was twisting his tunic into his fist and pulling him bodily towards the stairs. 

“I swear Gerard Way, if you keep rebuffing me with, _we have too much work to do_ then I am going to die.” He said dramatically, his eyes narrowed. “Being around that hunter makes me feel like my life is about to end; and then you kiss me like that and…” Frank sighed, his eyelashes fluttering and making Gerard go weak at the knees. 

“If you don’t want me then just say so, and I will never make an advance towards you again.” Frank knew well enough that Gerard wanted him too, and he was determined to lay to rest the awkward dancing around each other they had been doing for weeks. “But if you do want me, then I demand you bed me right now.” 

Gerard’s eyebrow lifted, and an amused smile tugged at his lips. The sensation of cold that seemed to linger around Azeroth and any place he visited was well and truly gone now. Frank was a flame all his own, and he warmed the cottage again, filling it with light and life that was irresistible. Gerard found himself astonished by the power of it, and he wondered if Frank had noticed it yet or not… just how powerful he was. 

“No one has ever demanded anything of me before.” He tried to speak calmly as Frank dragged him up the stairs. “I’m not sure how I feel about my apprentice doing it.” 

Frank grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “How about a lover?”

Gerard shrugged, hoping his excitement wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Seduction was not easy if he showed his hand too early. “You’re not a lover yet.” He reminded Frank, but that only made his grin widen. 

“ _Yet_.” He repeated, his tone smug. Gerard had revealed more than he intended, and Frank knew he was getting his way. He considered for just a moment on the landing, and then dragged Gerard into his room, never taking his eyes off his face. 

Gerard went willingly, and maybe he was showing off a little bit when he used his fingers to make the door slam shut and lock behind them. 

“You’re sure you know what you’re asking for?” He asked coyly. “I won’t go easy on you.” 

Those words alone were enough to have Frank so hard in his breeches that he was sure he was going to tear right through them. He had never seen inside Gerard’s room before, but he didn’t even glance around - besides just enough to locate the bed - before he was tumbling down onto it and pulling Gerard with him. 

“I’m a blacksmith at heart.” He grinned, leaning up on his elbows and feeling his pulse race when Gerard knelt over him, hands already working on the ties of his tunic. “If I can handle the heat of a furnace for years, then I can handle you.” 

Gerard didn’t doubt it. He met Frank in a heated, almost desperate kiss, and allowed the adrenaline of facing Azeroth Heron to banish all of his inhibitions and remind him that in that moment at least, all they needed to do was live.


	11. Charmed

Frank could feel Gerard’s heartbeat beneath his palm, sure and steady, thudding at a relaxed pace despite how Frank’s pulse was still so frantic he could feel it like a hum in his veins. He stroked his fingers slowly across Gerard’s bare chest, admiring the delicate pink of his nipples and feeling the way his lungs worked as he breathed. They were entwined so closely that Frank felt almost joined up to his new lover. 

_Lover_.

Just thinking it made Frank go all hot and tingly. He had never laid with anyone before, and honestly hadn’t thought much about it. His body got urges and he dealt with them, of course, but this… _this_ was something else. 

Frank suddenly understood all those jaunty love songs that got bellowed out by drunken revelers every time there was a celebration. There was one that Two Beard was especially fond of, _The Maid with the Honey Hair_ , that he only sang on extra special occasions when he was extra specially drunk.

Right now Frank wasn’t sure if he felt more like the maid with the honey hair, or the emerald knight who won her hand at tourney. Won her hand, and her maidenhead too. If the song was to be believed, both maid and knight had seen stars and Frank could absolutely believe it. He was pretty sure he’d just seen an entire cosmos. 

“That was…” Gerard tried to think of a word and ended up just huffing out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Unexpected.” He finally settled on, looking down at Frank with stars in his eyes. “So much for taking things slowly.” 

Frank grinned, leaning up on his elbows so he could steal a welcome kiss from Gerard’s lips. They were warm and a little kiss-swollen as it was, and Frank was deliriously proud of himself for being the cause of it. 

“Didn’t it feel like…” He sighed deeply, trying hard to voice his words carefully and not like a love-sick fool. “It felt… so right. Like we’d waited too long already.” What Frank _really_ wanted to say was that it had felt _important_. It felt like when they’d carried out the ritual in the woods, but even stronger, even more _magical_. It felt like the answer to a riddle finally presenting itself. 

Gerard hummed quietly, stroking his fingertips gently up and down Frank’s spine. He didn’t need to hear what was unsaid to feel the same way, but he was too busy basking in the warmth that seemed to glow around them to try and say as much. 

If only they could have stayed there forever, where they were warm and safe and connected. Frank wanted nothing more than to settle back down on Gerard’s chest, take a nap and then wake refreshed enough to go again; but already a heavy feeling was settling over him and his euphoria was starting to wane. 

“What are we going to do?” He asked quietly, sitting up just enough to be able to look down at Gerard. “We can’t give Azeroth any information, and then he’ll get angry and -”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Gerard sat up with a soft groan, his own happiness fizzling away. “It kills the mood.” 

Frank quirked an eyebrow at Gerard, but he didn’t feel guilty. Both men knew that they needed to talk about it, just as much as they both knew that the mood was already well and truly dead. 

“I’m worried.” He said simply, looking into Gerard’s eyes and seeing his own fear reflected back at him. “I thought that leaving the forge would mean getting away from that man.” 

Gerard sat up more and pulled Frank gently into his arms. He tucked the blanket more firmly around him and then brushed his hair back off his forehead so he could kiss it. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He promised him, but Frank just scoffed. 

“But it’s not just me, is it?” He cuddled up to Gerard, glad of the comfort he felt when he had his arms around him, but it wasn’t enough to ease his fear away completely. “He’ll try to hurt you if we don’t come up with anything for him… and if we _do_ come up with anything, then he’ll kill whoever we put down as a suspect.” 

“I know.” Gerard sighed, his brow furrowing as he held Frank tight. All of these things had already passed through his mind. “I think we should go to the temple he mentioned. Find that box thing he talked about.”

“The blessings box?” Frank nodded, not sure what Gerard hoped they would find, but willing to go all the same. “I’ve never been to the Temple of the Twelve in town before, but I know where it is.” 

Gerard nodded, shifting slightly as if to stand. “Then let’s go right away. The sooner we decide what we’re going to do, the sooner we can do it.”

Frank gave Gerard a curious look, slipping obediently out of his lap. “Do you have a plan?” He asked softly, barely daring to hope. 

“Not yet.” Gerard slid out of bed and began gathering up his clothes. “But we’re warlocks, we can figure something out.”

A hot thrill went through Frank at that, his eyes lighting up to be referred to as a _warlock_. Not just an apprentice, but an actual _warlock_ just like Gerard. 

“Just tell me what you need me to do.” He said proudly, eager to be helpful. He would try anything that Gerard asked; all of the things he’d been learning so far he’d been able to accomplish with just a little bit of practice, and though there were some things he couldn’t quite do _yet_ , nothing so far had felt impossible. 

“Right now I just need you to show me to the temple.” Gerard smiled, dressing quickly. He flicked his hands and Frank’s clothes flew up onto the bed, landing haphazardly in his lap. “I have no idea where it is.”

“You should get out more.” Frank teased, though he obediently got up and began to dress too. “It’s the biggest building in town, you can’t miss it.” 

Gerard pulled a face, lacing up the ties to his trousers with dextrous fingers that made Frank’s mouth water. “I thought the castle was the largest building.”

It was Frank’s turn to pull a face. “Other than the castle.” He said in a tone that suggested that should have gone without saying. “I mean the biggest building in the town itself. You know, the other side of the castle walls?” He said sarcastically. 

“Well I don’t travel far.” Gerard shrugged, though that wasn’t necessarily true. Some of the more exotic ingredients in his pantry were sourced from the farthest reaches of the world; but he didn’t get to those places by ordinary means, and it wasn’t something he needed to talk about right then anyway. 

Frank could sense something unsaid, but he didn’t point it out. He dressed quickly, as Gerard had, and glanced around the bedroom for the first time since they’d entered it. Earlier, he had been far too distracted by Gerard’s mouth and hands and… everything else… to really pay attention to the room itself, but now he took a moment to turn in a circle and drink it all in. 

Gerard’s room was far more cluttered than Frank’s own, though not as unkempt as the main room of the cottage. There were ashes unswept in the hearth and the windowsill was a little dusty, but otherwise it was clean. But there were books _everywhere_ , not just in the bookcase which was already large enough to dominate one wall, but stacked all about the floor as well. Several lay on the writing desk by the window, and a roll of parchment was stretched out between two which were being used to weigh the paper down.

Frank couldn’t make out the writing from where he was standing, but he could see beautiful calligraphy and intricate sigils, and he had just enough time to wonder what they were for before Gerard was calling for him from the door. 

“Shall we go?” He held the door open with one hand, his eyes bright and expectant. 

Frank hastily yanked his shirt over his head and nodded, striding to the door and stepping out into the hall with him.

“Will we be allowed into the temple by the time we arrive?” Gerard asked anxiously, glancing out of the circular window at the end of the hall and at the sun, which was just beginning to sink below the treeline. “It will be nightfall by the time we get into town.”

“Most people say their prayers at night anyway.” Frank explained as they traipsed downstairs. “You can access the temple any time.”

They paused at the door for Gerard to apply a glamour as always, though this time he changed it up. “What’s the expected attire for the temple?” He asked Frank, who just laughed and shrugged. 

“For the one in town, I imagine just about anything.” He said. “Remember, it’s for all folk to use. At the castle, the Queen and her ladies always wear veils, but I don’t think there are any rules for men.” Frank looked at Gerard’s loose, flowing shirt and tight trousers and his lips twitched against a smile. “Maybe just something a little more formal. You are a craftsman after all.”

Gerard smirked, thought for a moment and then brushed his hand over his shirt. It immediately cinched in at the waist, grew a belt out of nowhere, and turned into a neat but unfussy tunic. 

“Don’t you own any actual clothes?” Frank asked curiously, before stepping back to give the glamor a go himself. 

“Of course, but this is easier.” Gerard shrugged, watching Frank with interest. “I can do that for you-”

“No no, I’ve got it.” Frank wasn’t sure if it was the sex bolstering his confidence, or Azeroth Heron making him feel the need to prove himself, but the urge to try the magic alone was too strong to ignore. He had no idea how to create a glamor - Gerard had always explained that it was too advanced for now - but Frank tried to work from instinct. 

He wasn’t even sure if he _had_ magical instinct, but then, he’d never been sure he had magical ability and somehow he had. He closed his eyes and tried to picture a tunic similar to Gerard’s, imagining his clothes turning into it. He cupped his palms and imagined the sensation of cloth against his palms, like a shroud he could throw over himself. 

Frank passed his hands slowly down his torso, but felt nothing. He tried again, just in case, and cracked open an eyelid when Gerard chuckled. 

“Very handsome.” He said approvingly, his voice thick with mirth. 

“I did it!?” Frank looked down eagerly and blushed hard when he saw he was wearing a tunic so flimsy that it could have been weaved from cobwebs. His nipples were clearly visible through it, as were the dark bruises Gerard had sucked up from his collarbones down. “Oh…”

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Gerard chuckled, his cheeks flushed with pink as he looked Frank over, “that you’ve created anything at all is remarkable. That you made something that resembles your garment of choice is even more impressive.” Gerard clicked his fingers and Frank’s tunic became solid, and he felt the familiar cold-then-hot sensation of a glamor settling over him.

“A few more tries and you’ll have it perfected, I’m sure.” Gerard said confidently. “But for now, we don’t have time to lose.” 

Frank agreed, though his brow furrowed with disappointment. Despite Gerard’s compliments, he was eager to do better and the urge to try again was almost overwhelming.

But Gerard was already out of the door, and Frank had to concede that he could try as much as he liked once they returned home. For now, they had more important matters at hand. 

Outside, the evening was warm and pleasant. The setting sun cast a long shadow across the earth, making the houses of the town look somehow unreal. They appeared more like a painting than solid buildings, and Frank felt almost dreamlike as he and Gerard walked side by side along the dirt road that led away from the cottage. Every now and then their hands would brush, but Frank didn’t dare take hold of Gerard’s hand like he wanted; even though he was certain there was no one around who could see them, it wasn’t worth the risk. Frank was under no illusions, in the eyes of other people, to be a sodomite was as terrible a thing as being a witch.

“When I first met you,” Frank broke the silence suddenly, blurting out his words as though he had decided to voice a train of thought halfway through thinking it, “you asked me how many women who had been killed I actually believed were witches…” 

Gerard glanced at Frank, his eyes curious. “Yes… And you said you didn’t believe any of them were.”

“And I still believe that.” Frank said quickly, keeping his own gaze dead ahead, brow furrowed in concentration. “And then, that day we saw the hanging… you asked me if I’d noticed it was only women who had been suspected.” He looked at Gerard then, his eyes pained. “Why is that?”

“Why what?” Gerard frowned. “Why is it always women?”

“Yes.” Frank hadn’t thought much about it at all when Gerard had first mentioned it, but now it hit him like a hammer on an anvil. “You said something about it before… about women always being blamed or… or something?”

Gerard gave a hollow, sad sort of laugh and looked back towards the town. “I did. Because it’s true. All through history, women are blamed for all sorts of things.” He sighed heavily and glanced at Frank again. “Haven’t you noticed it before? How it’s always men in power, and never women? How a woman is expected to stay home and raise children whilst their husbands fight wars, collect titles or pursue education?”

“But it doesn’t make sense.” Frank _hadn’t_ thought about it before, in the palace there were equal amounts of female staff to male. But now that Gerard pointed it out, he did recall that when the King died, there had been uproar over his daughter succeeding him. Even now, Queen Isabel was constantly having to prove herself, or else risk losing her position. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” Gerard agreed. “Although I have my theories.” 

Frank was immediately interested. “What?” He asked eagerly, eyes wide and attentive. 

“I think it stems from fear.” Gerard didn’t look at Frank as he spoke, just continued to watch the town coming closer. “A woman has the power of life in her hands, without a woman’s body, there could be no children. Oh sure, a man plays his part as well, but it is the mother who carries new life inside her, alone, all those months.” He smiled, but he looked like he wanted to cry. “And it is to our mothers that we run to in times of need, both children and full grown adults alike, whilst their mothers live and they are able.” Now Gerard really did look sorrowful, and Frank felt a hollow ache blossom in his own chest too. He couldn’t remember his mother well at all, he hadn’t seen her since he’d been taken away, and that was so long ago… he hated that he couldn’t remember her face. 

“Women have power - they have the most _important_ power - not just the ability to create life, but to nourish it.” Gerard looked at Frank then, and his hazel eyes were pained. “I think some men despise that. They probably can’t even say why, and would insist otherwise if you pointed it out, but some men - men like Azeroth Heron - see women as a threat and they become obsessed with destroying them.”

“Consider a garden,” Gerard went on, barely pausing for breath, “consider _my_ garden. I have spent years tending to it, taking care of it, growing each seedling with care and thinking always of the wellbeing of my plants. Then imagine someone comes along and sees my beautiful garden and all my hard work and hates me for it - thinks to themselves that I shouldn’t be allowed such a garden. That I am too weak or too stupid to have created something so wonderful, and so they come along one day and they tear up all the plants and they burn the ground and destroy it forever.”

Frank blinked up at Gerard, his face pale. He didn’t want to imagine such a thing, it was too awful. 

“Now imagine that I was a woman, and that my garden was my body.” Gerard said quietly, and Frank’s expression grew more pained. “There are people - too many people - who see what women can do and think it is not fair; women are too weak, too stupid, they shouldn’t be allowed all this power and so they take it from them the only way they can. They destroy them.” 

Frank was silent as those words sank in, leaving a nauseous feeling in his stomach. “So… So do you think that Azeroth doesn’t even believe those women are witches either?” He asked slowly, barely daring to say it. It was just too awful to imagine. 

“Oh I think he does believe it.” Gerard said without hesitation. “I don’t think there are many, if any men, who would believe they held a vendetta against women.” He scoffed at the very idea. “After all, we all have mothers, sisters, daughters... I believe that Heron believes in witches, absolutely. But I think that his belief comes from this fear of women, though he himself wouldn’t even realise it.” 

Frank stared at Gerard, his mind reeling. He tried to make sense of it all, and when Gerard saw how he was struggling he blushed and shrugged, trying to brush the whole thing away. 

“Like I said, it’s just a theory.” He said quietly, waving his hand. “I could be wrong. It just seems to me that there must be _some_ reason why it’s only women who have been suspected so far.” 

Frank opened his mouth but he found himself speechless. He supposed there had to be a reason too, but the thought of powerful men like Azeroth Heron having a deep-rooted fear for women seemed… impossible. And yet Gerard made so much sense. 

By the time they were entering the main square of the town, Frank was still speechless and it was too late to discuss it anymore. Even at this time of the evening, there were far too many people around to risk talking about witches or anything to do with them. 

“You lead the way.” Gerard said softly, not looking at Frank. They had reached the main square, where they had witnessed the hanging of Mrs Clarence Baker, and the shadow of that day seemed to hang over them both. Gerard’s expression was dark and solemn, and Frank shivered as he moved in front of him and hurried to lead him along the eastern path that would take them to the temple of the twelve. 

Gerard followed along silently, but Frank could sense how close behind him he was. He lengthened his strides, eager to get to temple as quickly as possible. Now that the sun was almost set, there was a ghostly feel about the town. It wasn’t that it was empty - quite the opposite - all around them people went about their business, but no one seemed to notice Gerard or Frank, the two of them passing through like shadows.

This end of town had more houses than shops or taverns. There was the odd inn or two, but for the most part it was just crooked little houses, all squashed together like they’d fall down if they didn’t lean upon one another.

It was the poorest part of town, and seemingly as a consequence, the rowdiest. 

Dirty children raced down the streets, which were becoming narrower and narrower, shouting and laughing and making nuisances of themselves. One little boy almost sent Frank flying, but he barely even acknowledged him as he soared on by. 

A woman was leaning from one of the doorways, shaking out an old blanket. The coarse material brushed against Gerard’s arms as he walked by, and when he looked at the woman, she met his eyes for just a moment before disappearing back into her house as if she had been burned.

“Are people always so friendly down here?” Gerard asked quietly, walking by a house where shouting and crashing could be heard from within. He would have been alarmed, but the crashing was promptly followed by raucous laughter, which didn’t put him at ease but at least made him feel as though he shouldn’t intervene.

“I don’t come here all that often.” Frank shrugged without looking back. “The temple’s not far.” 

Frank seemed to be hurrying along quite quickly, and Gerard was glad. Whenever anyone caught his eye they turned away, and he began to worry something was wrong. He hadn’t put a charm on them to make people avoid them, but clearly they were. He began to fear that some news of them had spread, that they were in danger… but after a few more minutes of walking, he began to suspect the opposite. 

The townsfolk were afraid of _them_.

Gerard’s stomach rolled and he brushed a hand self consciously over his face. It was impossible, but he found himself worrying that Azeroth Heron had somehow branded them as witch hunters. 

“Just here, I think.” Frank suddenly dashed ahead, and for a moment Gerard lost him in the narrow streets. He moved forward quickly, brushing people aside who moved willingly at his touch, and rounded a sharp corner to find- 

“Gods.” Gerard came to a sudden halt, his jaw falling open. 

The narrow street had opened up unexpectedly, and in the wide space was a huge stone building. Frank hadn’t been joking when he’d said it was the biggest structure besides the castle, and the only reason Gerard hadn’t seen it before was because the houses had been so tightly packed together that they blocked everything but the sky from view. 

Gerard turned to look back the way they’d come, at the rabbit warren of a street. The houses created a wall along one side of the temple, and opposite them was nothing but fields. They had come right to the edge of the town, if the palace marked one boundary, then this temple marked the other. 

“Come on.” Frank gestured for Gerard to follow and led the way to a wide staircase that created a semi-circle around a stone courtyard. The courtyard had a few flowerbeds amongst the paving stones, no doubt trying to give a more natural effect but it just looked jarring. The stairs were well worn from the daily tread of hundreds of feet, and the temple itself seemed to leer over them.

Looking up at it, Gerard couldn’t imagine why people would want to visit it. He held no providence with the twelve Gods, but even he felt suddenly small and sinful when in the shadow of that great wall of stone.

Frank walked ahead of him up the stairs, but he paused when he came to the double doors that were propped open as the entrance to the temple. When Gerard reached his side, Frank gestured behind himself at the entry, as if Gerard hadn’t already noticed it. 

“Well, here we are.” He gave a sheepish smile and turned towards the doors. “Shall we go in?”

“I don’t see why not.” Gerard followed Frank inside, not entirely sure what he was about to see. The small, separate temples at the palace were all gilded with jewels and precious materials. But inside this temple there was just more stone; so much stone. It was cold and grey and disconcerting, but when Gerard looked around he saw that most of the women were wearing veils, as if in the presence of something so magnificent it would be disrespectful to look directly upon it.

The temple was circular inside, and all around it’s circumference were twelve separate altars. Each altar was set into an alcove, with a large stone effigy of one of the Gods behind it. Candles had been lit on and around the altars, some of them had so many that the wax was dripping down the stone like a white casing; but others had so few candles they looked to be in near darkness compared to the others. 

“The blessings box is there.” Frank pointed to a wooden box that was chained down on an altar in the very centre of the circle. It was a small box, and Gerard couldn’t understand why it would be chained down, but it gave him an uneasy feeling. 

“Why is it chained down?” He asked quietly, starting to make his way towards it. He kept his voice low, but the acoustics inside the temple were such that even the faintest whisper carried easily. Gerard blushed and waved a hand out, surrounding himself and Frank in a silencing charm. 

“We can talk unheard.” He told him once he felt the familiar weight of the charm settle around them, but he still kept his voice low. 

“The box would be stolen if it wasn’t chained down.” Frank spoke softly too. “It contains money.”

“Money!?” Gerard looked at Frank in surprise, almost stumbling on his way down the steps towards the box and it’s altar. “Why?”

“That’s what it’s for.” Frank looked at Gerard with a bemused expression. “People put money in it to pay for blessings.” He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “You really don’t know much about this, do you?”

Gerard blushed, but he held his head up high as they approached the box. “I’ve never needed to.” He sniffed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying them any attention before he slowly cupped his hands around the edges of the box. It was no bigger than one of his herb planters, and made of highly polished mahogany. 

“You have to pay for a blessing?” He asked quietly, frowning to himself. “I confess, I don’t know much about your twelve Gods, but that seems strange.” 

Frank scoffed and gave a short, mirthless laugh. “They’re not _my_ Gods.” He said defensively. “And it _is_ stupid. You don’t _have_ to pay for blessings, but the money gets used in the upkeep of the temple, so everyone gets told that their prayers will be heard more if they cough up. The Queen pays for the upkeep of the temple at the palace, that’s why there’s no box there.” 

“I see.” Gerard let go of the box with a small scowl. It felt disgusting to him that such a ruse was in place; there were so many people in the town who were poor and who no doubt believed fiercely in the twelve, it seemed a shameful thing to part them of their money on the promise that it would get their prayers heard. 

Gerard glanced around and his feeling of unease grew as he watched the various people praying at the altars. He didn’t know the twelve that well, but he recognised the altar of the mother, because of all the women around it. And he recognised the altar of the farming God, because of all the men around it, dirt on their clasped hands. 

“Come along.” Gerard touched Frank’s wrist and motioned for him to follow. “I want to watch a while.” 

Frank obediently followed Gerard up the stairs to the opposite side of the temple, where the least amount of people were. They stood beside an altar which was almost entirely black; only one candle was burning, and Frank suspected that candle had been lit by the priest who always said a prayer at every altar in an evening. 

Gerard spared the altar a glance, and the effigy behind it. This statue was of a hunched figure, crouched low to the ground, wearing a long robe with a hood. The face had not been carved at all, and was simply a blank flat of stone. The figure held a tall staff in one hand, with a lantern hanging from the end. 

“Heleshki.” Frank explained when he saw Gerard looking. “The God of Death. We won’t see many people praying here.” 

Gerard looked closer at the statue, but he felt no fear or unease. Maybe that was because all he saw was stone; or maybe it was because he knew that Death was not some robed figure to be afraid of. 

“Heleshki.” He repeated quietly, tasting the word in his mouth. “I imagine Azeroth prays to them a lot.” 

Frank wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not, but it left him with a nauseous feeling in his stomach. He looked silently at Gerard, but Gerard just turned around and looked back out over the temple. 

“I don’t want people noticing us.” He touched Frank’s wrist and a cool sensation came over him, like a cold viel being dropped over him. “No one can see us now, but if anyone comes close, be sure to move out of their way.”

Frank nodded, and took the opportunity to look closely at Gerard’s face. The other man looked like he was concentrating hard, his eyes locked on the blessings box. Frank wasn’t sure what he was hoping to see, but he turned his own gaze that way as well and tried not to feel impatient as they simply stood and stared.

Several long minutes went by, and then an elderly lady made her way down the stairs towards the box. She reached into her sleeve with shaking hands and produced a small, bronze coin. She pressed it to her lips, whispering something against it and then pressed the coin through the slot in the top of the box.

Frank glanced at Gerard, but he made no reaction.

Some time later, a young man made the same journey. He was fresh faced, blushing, and he glanced conspicuously at the altar of Eroso as he slipped a coin of his own into the box. Frank looked at Gerard with a chuckle, but his laughter died away when Gerard once again made no reaction.

Frank huffed and looked out again, but as an hour ticked away, they just watched as men and women alike came to pay for their blessings. Gerard watched them all like a statue, always still and silent whether a bronze coin was placed into the box, or a silver or even - on one occasion - a gold.

Frank wondered what they were waiting for, or if Gerard even knew himself and then -

“Look!” Gerard suddenly grabbed Frank’s wrist, leaning forward and staring at the box with wide eyes. 

“Wha-?” Frank followed his gaze and fell quiet, his ears going hot. A man had approached the box and was slipping something into it, but it wasn’t a coin this time. It was small, so Frank almost didn’t see it, but as he let it go through the slot he recognised the shape of a neatly folded square of parchment. 

“You don’t think that was-?”

“A name.” Gerard nodded, his brow furrowed and his grip tight on Frank’s wrist. “Undoubtedly. That man is working for Heron.” 

Frank looked at the man with more interest now, his heart racing. He looked like any other middle-aged man, completely non-descript. Frank wouldn’t have remembered his face for more than five minutes if he hadn’t thought to look properly. Now that he was paying more attention, he could see that the man had the soft hands and body of a baker, or tavern owner, but there was nothing at all sinister about him.

_There’s nothing sinister about us either_. Frank blushed a light shade of pink as he wondered if this man was working for Heron because he had no choice, like they were. Not that Frank even considered himself as ‘working for’ the witch hunter at all. He supposed technically though… Perhaps this man was in a similar position to theirs.

“Do you think he’s being forced?” Frank asked quietly, but Gerard just shrugged. 

“There’s no way to know.” 

A short while later, another man came to the box and slid a slip of parchment inside. This man was clearly a farmhand, but young. He glanced around anxiously as he placed his parchment into the box, and then left the temple immediately afterwards. 

“Another one.” Gerard said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wonder how many-”

He cut himself short when they realised that this time a woman was approaching the box, and she too had a slip of parchment folded into a neat square. Frank felt his jaw dropping, and beside him Gerard went tense. 

“It’s getting late,” he said quietly, “they must wait until the temple is quieter to bring their names. They obviously don’t want to be seen.” 

Frank looked around, barely having noticed how empty the temple had become, but Gerard was right. There were just three other people at the altars now, and so busy praying they weren’t paying any attention to the blessings box. Frank imagined most people were having dinner now, or getting ready for bed if they were up with the dawn; it made sense that those who were dropping the names of witches into the box had chosen this hour to come. 

“We’ll watch just a little longer.” Gerard said quietly, and though Frank desperately wanted to turn away, he nodded and remained vigilant. 

Another hour passed, and six more people came with parchment for the box. A few others appeared to pray and slip a coin into the box, but Frank barely saw them now. He couldn’t believe how many people were following the instructions of Azeroth Heron and it made his skin crawl. 

“It’s late.” Gerard said at last, looking at Frank and gently brushing his fingers over his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Frank felt frozen to the spot, but when Gerard slowly laced their fingers and gave his hand a tug, his feet moved all on their own. 

It wasn’t until they were outside of the temple that Frank felt able to breathe again, but with it came a sharp inhale that was more like a sob. 

“All those _people_ -” He gasped, covering his mouth with one hand as tears welled up in his eyes. “No wonder Azeroth is able to kill so many women, he’s got dozens of people feeding him names!”

“I know.” Gerard said quietly, keeping the veil charm around them so that they could walk home hand-in-hand. “I know… But at least he shouldn’t notice if we’re not putting anything into the box.” He pointed out softly, looking at Frank with the faintest ghost of a smile. “It’s not much of a bright side but…”

Frank shook his head. “He’ll know.” He said confidently, wiping his eyes fiercely with his free hand. “I don’t know how, but he’ll know.” Maybe Azeroth was keeping track of the various hand-writing he saw, or maybe he had spies who watched to see who was putting names into the blessings box. Either way, Frank had no doubt they couldn’t risk not putting anything. 

“He won’t know.” Gerard tried to assure Frank, but he could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe him, and he was so upset that Gerard decided it wasn’t the best moment to try and convince him. “I’ll make a mirror charm for the box.” He said gently, trying desperately to think of something that might cheer Frank up. “Then we can see what’s being put into it, and try to help the women who get named before Azeroth can get to them.”

Frank looked at Gerard in surprise, his eyes shining with tears. “Really?” He asked quietly, barely daring to believe they could get away with such a thing. “We’ll help them?”

“It’s risky.” Gerard said honestly, sighing as he looked into Frank’s shining eyes. “But… But we can’t sit back and do nothing.” 

The wobbly smile Frank gave him was worth any risk, and Gerard couldn’t help but laugh quietly as that smile turned into a grin. “Don’t get too excited.” Gerard warned him, trying hard not to grin back, but Frank’s joy was contagious. “If getting involved starts to raise any suspicions against us, I’ll call an end to it.” He tried his best to look stern, but Frank just looked at him like he’d hung the moon. 

“Protect the coven first.” Frank nodded, having read something about that in one of his books. 

Gerard blushed, but he couldn’t stop his smile. “Well, we’re not really a coven but… yes, the feeling is the same.” Their ritual in the woods had dictated as much, and he was glad that he didn’t need to remind Frank about it.

“Thank you.” Frank said quietly, lifting Gerard’s hand to his mouth so he could tenderly kiss his knuckles. “Even just to try will be enough.”

Gerard didn’t imagine it would be; he had no doubt that if they tried to help the named women and then had to stop, that Frank would put up a fight about it. But he appreciated the sentiment, and seeing Frank happy was enough to make him accept his gratitude with grace. 

“I’ll get started on the charm first thing tomorrow.” He promised, leaning down to kiss the top of Frank’s head. 

“I’ll help you.” Frank said eagerly, squeezing Gerard’s hand. 

“It’s advanced.” Gerard warned him, but he didn’t try to stop him. He was under no illusions where Frank’s power was concerned. Gerard had known he was a warlock from birth, and had been learning the craft from the moment he could talk, and even he had taken until the age of seven to levitate items; even small, light items like smudge sticks… and a glamour - even a flimsy one - had taken him until he was eighteen.

Frank had no idea of the power inside him, and something in Gerard made him hold back in telling him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Frank, but part of him was still trying to work out the connection between Frank suddenly deciding to learn the craft - having supposedly demonstrated no magical ability before, the hangings that had taken place at the beginning of the year, and Azeroth Heron’s appearance in the town. Perhaps there was no connection at all, but Gerard was wise enough to recognise the gossamer strand of fate when he sensed it, no matter how unlikely.

“Are you hungry?” He asked Frank once they were walking down the long road towards the cottage. Smoke was coming from the chimney and he was glad that the fire hadn’t completely burned down whilst they were out. “I’ll make us some dinner if you like.”

“Yes please.” Frank smiled, always glad to eat. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to eating three meals a day, and he hoped it never stopped. Gerard was an excellent cook, just as good as the palace cooks Frank thought, and it was nice to not have to share their meals with anyone but each other. 

“I have everything we need for a cauldron cake,” Gerard looked at Frank with a playful gleam in his eyes, “I haven’t made you one before have I?” 

Frank shook his head, almost laughing at the delight on Gerard’s face. 

“Oh they’re the best! I sweeten mine with honey and orange and-” Gerard went quiet, his face falling. He looked towards the cottage and Frank went tense when he felt Gerard suddenly tighten his grip on his hand. 

“Gerard?” He asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong.” Gerard looked at the smoke curling from the chimney in rising spirals, and then turned his gaze to the front door where Pumpkin was sat, waiting. Her tail was held up high behind her, flicking slowly from side to side. 

“Wrong?” Frank went cold, thinking immediately of Azeroth Heron. He tried to stop walking, but Gerard just pulled him along. 

“They know we’re here.” He said quietly, his face drawn. “No point in trying to hide now.”

“They?” Frank asked, alarmed. 

“They, him, I’m not sure.” Gerard let go of Frank’s hand and strode ahead of him. He stopped at the door and crouched down to look at Pumpkin, his eyes narrowed. Pumpkin looked up at him and gave a long, low _mrow_.

“What did she say?” Frank whispered, hovering timidly behind Gerard. 

“She said-”

The door opening interrupted Gerard and Frank took a hasty step back. Gerard remained crouched where he was, but he looked up with wide eyes as the man in the doorway smiled widely at them both. 

“Brother!” He beamed, stepping out and pulling Gerard forcefully to his feet. “It’s been such a long time, embrace me!” 

Frank stared in quiet astonishment as the stranger pulled Gerard into a bone-crunching hug. He was taller than Gerard, and far more slender, but there was something familiar about him. When he turned his gaze to Frank, he realised he had the same hazel eyes as Gerard. 

“You must introduce me to your protege.” The man let Gerard go as suddenly as he had grabbed him and pushed him lightly to the side so he could stride to Frank.

“Michael-” Gerard was breathless, his eyes still wide with shock. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’ve come to see how you are.” The man, Michael, scoffed like it should have been obvious and offered Frank his hand. “A pleasure to meet you…”

“F - Frank.” Frank shook his head to snap himself out of his daze and accepted the offered hand. No sooner had his palm touched Michael’s than a bolt of lightning seemed to zap down his spine, making him yelp and wrench his hand back in surprise. He looked down at his palm, stricken, but there was nothing there.

“Charmed." Michael purred, his eyes glittering. "Absolutely charmed.” If he had felt the electric shock, he didn't show it. He just went on gazing at Frank, his wide smile and dark eyes reminding Frank of when a predator looks at prey. He looked Frank up and down, taking him in, and then span on his heel to march back into the cottage. 

"I just knew I was going to like you Frank." He announced without looking back. "I just knew it!"

Frank looked at Gerard, astounded. Gerard met his eyes, looking just as lost, but after a moment he clenched his teeth and inclined his head, motioning for Frank to follow him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dying to get Mikey into this story and he has FINALLY arrived!! 
> 
> I am so excited to continue guys but we are so short staffed at work I'm just snatching time where I can. Thank you, as ever, for bearing with me and please know I appreciate you all so, so much <3


	12. Dark magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long guys! Things are mental as always! It looks like my town will be getting a local lockdown soon (because people are all assholes), which means work won't be quietening down anytime soon. Thank you all for being as wonderful and patient as always, and I hope to be updating quicker as soon as I can! <3

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of opening a bottle.” Michael held up one of the fresh flagons of honey wine that Gerard had stashed in the pantry, summoning two more cups over with his long fingers to fill them. “A lovely place you have here Gerard, it’s very…” Michael looked around at all the clutter and his lips twitched against a smirk, “very you.” He finished. 

“What are you doing here Michael?” Gerard was tense and his face had gone ashen, his brows drawn together in a scowl. It was painfully clear that he wasn’t happy to see his brother. 

“I thought I should pay you a visit.” Michael said airily, passing one cup to Gerard and then the other to Frank. When their fingers brushed Frank felt another shiver go down his spine and Michael smiled at him, his eyes dark. “It’s been years, after all.”

“It’s been _fifteen years_.” Gerard said coolly, coming closer to Frank and glaring hard at Michael until he stepped back. “I haven’t seen you since the day you up and left.” 

“So dramatic.” Michael scoffed, turning on his heel to stride back towards the fireplace where he’d left his wine on the mantelpiece. He snagged the cup and drained half of its contents in one go, eyeing Gerard over the rim. “It’s not like I _abandoned_ you, dear brother, I went off to further my education.” Michael raised his cup as if making a toast, his smile wide. He spoke exceptionally well, Frank noticed, with pronounced elocution and no hint of the southern accent that Gerard had. 

“To further your education.” Gerard repeated quietly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe Michael’s audacity. “Is that what you call it? You and I were already apprenticed to the greatest master of The Craft in the world, and you know it.” He said coldly. 

Michael chuckled, sitting down on the stool by the fire and draping one leg gracefully over the other. “Of course you’d think that. How is daddy dearest?” He asked sweetly, cocking his head at Gerard. “I assume you’re still… _In touch_.” He said the words with an amused look on his face, like he was saying something salacious, but Gerard just ignored him and pulled Frank gently to sit down with him opposite Michael, a good four feet of space between them.

“Oh…” Michael was watching Gerard carefully, and his look of surprise quickly turned to mirth. “You’re _not_ in touch with him? How very upsetting.” Michael looked delighted. “Whatever caused you two to fall out?”

“We didn’t fall out.” Gerard snapped, a pink blush rising on his cheeks. “Grant’s very busy, he doesn’t have time to always be checking in on me.” 

“Heartbreaking.” Michael sighed, shaking his head in amazement, his smile wide. “So, left to your own devices you’ve set up quite the neat little business.” Michael looked around the cottage again, looking like he could barely contain his laughter. “Is it true you sell magical perfumes?” He snorted. 

Gerard’s blush intensified, and Frank touched his hand gently. He couldn’t understand why Gerard was letting this man talk to him like he was an idiot, but there was something foreboding about Michael that made Frank bite his own tongue too. 

“I won’t ask what you do these days.” Gerard eventually retorted, trying his best to hold his head up high. “I’m sure whatever it is, I’m better off not knowing.” 

“Most likely.” Michael agreed without hesitation, grinning. “I’m much more interested in hearing about you anyway.” He was talking to Gerard, but his gaze slid across to Frank, making his skin crawl. “I’ll admit, I was amazed to find out you’d taken on an apprentice of your own.” 

“Yes, how _did_ you find out?” Gerard asked, his frown increasing. “We haven’t told a single soul.” Gerard didn’t doubt that Frank had kept quiet too; not least because they spent almost every waking moment together. The ritual they had performed in the woods wouldn’t allow Frank to put them at risk by wagging his tongue. 

Michael looked surprised for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe Gerard could really be so stupid. 

“We’re still brothers, aren’t we?” He asked, as if that explained everything. “And I have my little threads keeping track of what’s going on all over the world… A spider always notices when something new gets caught in its web.” Michael looked at Frank, and Frank felt himself shudder all over. He got the impression that in this scenario, he was a big, juicy fly.

Gerard sensed it too and his grip on Frank’s hand tightened. “So you’ve been keeping an eye on me.” He whispered, furious at Michael but furious with himself too for never having suspected it. 

“I keep an eye on everyone with magical ability.” Michael shrugged, sipping some more of his wine. “Don’t think yourself special.” 

Frank looked between the two men, confused and anxious. Gerard looked like he wanted to hit something, and Michael looked like he was having the time of his life. 

“I never imagined you’d be the type to take on an apprentice.” Michael went on conversationally, meeting Frank’s gaze and smirking. “Though I can see why you took this one... Amazing that he had no magical ability to begin with. I’ve never heard of anyone coming into their powers so late in life.” 

Frank didn’t appreciate being talked about like he was deaf, and he opened his mouth to retort but Gerard beat him to it. 

“So that’s why you’re here.” He snarled as realisation hit. “You want Frank.” 

This was even more baffling and Frank couldn’t stop himself from snorting in surprise. “Why would anyone want _me?_ ” He scoffed, shaking his head. It wasn’t that he thought himself worthless or anything like that, and Michael obviously thought Gerard had decided to take him on for _some_ reason; but Frank wasn’t under any grand illusions about himself. In all things in life he had been mostly average. He could certainly forge things quite well, and he was doing his best to learn the craft as quickly as Gerard would teach him, but he’d never been extraordinary in anything.

Michael looked at Gerard, frowning at him, and then back at Frank. It took him a moment, but then his face smoothed back into a smile and he chuckled. “Why indeed.” He purred, as if he knew exactly _why_ and was amused that Frank didn’t know it too. 

“Whatever it is you’re here to say,” Gerard said slowly, starting to rise to his feet, “say it quickly so he can refuse you, and then get out.”

Michael chuckled again, but he shrugged and agreed. “Alright.” He drank the rest of his wine and put his cup down, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking directly at Frank. 

“I want to offer you the opportunity to study under me.” He said clearly, some of the mirth leaving his tone. He wasn’t quite deadly serious, but almost. Frank was taken aback by the force of his dark gaze. “My brother will teach you barely any more than parlour tricks. Under my guidance, you can have power like you have never imagined.”

Frank blinked, stunned. He glanced at Gerard, but Gerard was glaring at Michael and didn’t look at him. 

“I…” Frank hesitated a moment and then looked at Michael again, taking him in properly. Michael was tall and slender, but he moved with an almost liquid grace. His eyes, so like Gerard’s in colour, were heavily shadowed, whereas Gerard’s were dazzlingly bright. Michael’s skin, pale as Gerard’s was, reminded Frank of corpses in a way that Gerard’s didn’t; and Michael dressed richly, in expensive clothes that fitted him perfectly, all in shades of black and dark gray. The only spot of colour on him was a gold ring with a ruby stone.

At first glance, Frank had found Michael familiar, because he looked almost like Gerard. But now he realised that he didn’t look like Gerard at all; he reminded Frank much more of Azeroth Heron. 

“No, thank you.” Frank spoke slowly, quietly, leaning forward without realising as he took Michael in. “I’m quite happy here.”

“Are you?” Michael didn’t seem surprised or upset. He smiled leisurely at Frank, inviting him to look. “For now, perhaps.” Michael sat back suddenly and stretched, as if waking up from a long sleep. He rose to his feet and offered Frank his hand to shake, but Frank just stared at it. 

“When you realise that my brother is useless to you, come and find me.” Michael withdrew his hand slowly, curling his fingers into a fist. “One day you may need a friend who is willing to fight alongside you. You will not find such a friend here.” Michael looked at Gerard, smiling cruelly as he drifted past him. 

“Always a pleasure, brother mine.” He whispered, ghosting a kiss to Gerard’s cheek that was returned with an icy cold stare. “I’ll see myself out.” 

Frank didn’t realise how dark the cottage was until Michael left; as soon as the door closed behind him, the light from the fire seemed to increase tenfold and candles about the space flickered into life, showing him in stark clarity how grey in the face Gerard was.

“Sit down, Gee.” Frank urged him gently, pushing him onto a stool and brushing a hand over his forehead. Gerard felt clammy to the touch. “Do you need some water?”

“I’m fine.” Gerard touched Frank’s hand, but his face looked vacant and he was starting to tremble. “Fine…”

“No you’re not.” Frank squeezed Gerard’s hand quickly and then dashed to the door. “I’ll get you some water. Wait here.” When Frank stepped outside he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes wide as he looked around. He expected to see Michael walking away along the road to town, but there was no one to be seen for miles around. Frank spun in a slow circle, but he could sense that Michael was long gone.

Frank ran to the well and pulled hard on the ropes to bring up the bucket. It felt good to be outside, to be _doing_ something, panting in lungfuls of the warm night air as he yanked at the rope. The bucket swung slowly into view and Frank seized it. He’d forgotten to bring a basin, so he just unhooked the bucket itself and took the whole thing, carrying it with both hands by the handle as he dashed back to the cottage. 

“Frank, I’m fine.” Gerard insisted the moment Frank stepped inside. “I’m sorry if I seem…” He sighed deeply, trying to be reassuring but too exhausted to speak. Frank hushed him as he came over, dumping the bucket at his feet. 

“Just relax a moment.” He said firmly, dipping a clean rag into the bucket and wringing it out. “Then once you feel better, you’re going to tell me what the hell just happened.” 

Gerard gave a short, mirthless laugh, but nodded. He sighed quietly as Frank lay the cool, damp cloth over his forehead, standing behind him so Gerard could relax back against him. The back of his head lay against Frank’s firm stomach and Gerard had to admit it felt good to be taken care of. Frank’s calloused hands were gentle as they cradled his jaw and dabbed the wet cloth over his forehead and cheekbones to cool him down.

Gerard looked up at Frank, who’s brow was furrowed in concentration, and smiled at him. 

“You’re sweet.” He said softly, catching Frank by surprise and making him blush. “Sit with me and let’s talk.” 

Frank leaned over Gerard first, planting a tender kiss to his forehead, and then sat down beside him again. He lay the rag over the edge of the bucket and passed Gerard his wine, watching him nervously as Gerard sipped it and gathered his thoughts. Having Frank’s attention made him feel a lot better, but thinking about Michael made him feel sick again.

“Michael is my brother.” He said at last, looking into his cup as if he might see something interesting floating in there. 

“I gathered that much.” Frank chuckled, touching Gerard’s knee and squeezing gently. “And you haven’t seen him for a long time?”

“Not for years.” Gerard sighed and laid his hand over Frank’s, watching the way their fingers naturally locked together. “We were always close as children, and then when I was thirteen and Michael twelve, we were apprenticed to a warlock to learn the craft. We’d both had magical ability from birth, but we were raised in a coven so that was to be expected.”

Frank’s eyes went wide and he smiled, fascinated. “You were raised in a coven? With other witches?”

Gerard chuckled and nodded. “Yes. It was just normal to us.” He smiled. “But covens like that are dying out. In this day and age it’s much safer for people like us to live alone, or in small families, so as not to draw attention.”

“Is that why you and Michael were sent to someone else to learn the craft?” Frank asked curiously. 

“Oh, no.” Gerard laughed a little, but he softened it by squeezing Frank’s hand. “Michael and I both showed great talent with our abilities, so our parents sent us to Grant because he was well known for his magic.” Gerard’s cheeks went pink again and Frank cocked his head with a slow smile. 

“Grant?” He repeated, wondering why Gerard was looking so flustered. “So… what? There are famous warlocks out there?” He asked curiously. 

“Sort of.” Gerard gulped down some of his wine, trying not to look as flustered as he felt talking about his old master. “Most witches and warlocks have more or less the same abilities. Some pick up different things faster than others, but overall it’s all the same… But then there are the rare few who surpass everyone else. And then Grant…” Gerard’s blush grew. “Grant was - _is_ \- the most powerful warlock I know of. He could lift entire buildings into the air with a flick of his wrist, or drain whole rivers with a snap of his fingers if he wanted to… Someone that powerful gets noticed.” 

“So what happened?” Frank asked, his voice hushed. “To you and Michael? To Grant?”

Gerard drank some more wine first and then continued. “Well… For a few years things were wonderful. Grant was kind and wise and…” Gerard trailed off, swallowing thickly, and Frank may not have been the quickest to catch on but even he could tell that Gerard was trying not to say _handsome_. “Michael and I both learnt a lot from him, and came into our separate strengths. I naturally gravitated towards botanicals and potion making; and Michael…” Gerard bowed his head, his expression growing cold again. “Michael gravitated towards other things. Darker things.”

Gerard fell quiet, and Frank waited, but for a moment he didn’t say anything else. For a long while the two men sat silently, Gerard drinking, and Frank waiting. Eventually, the silence began to feel unbearable and Frank opened his mouth to ask what Gerard meant, but then Gerard started to speak again. 

“Over time, Michael’s interest in dark magic became more like an obsession. He read every book he could find on the subject, and started to dabble in dangerous spells… Things like necromancy.” Gerard looked at Frank, and though Frank didn’t know what that meant, the look on Gerard’s face made him too fearful to ask. “Grant always believed that we should be free to learn what we wanted; Grant doesn’t believe in things like good or evil, he taught us that all people - human and warlock alike - are grey creatures. Neither light nor dark. But… Even he had to admit that Michael was going down a dangerous path.” 

Gerard downed the last of his wine and slammed the cup down onto the nearest counter. When he looked at Frank again, his eyes were blazing with passion. 

“On my eighteenth birthday I confronted Michael about his interests, and begged him to stop. He was already so powerful that it scared me, and was starting to dabble in creating complex charms of his own making. Only the most powerful witches and warlocks have the ability to create _signature magic_ , but even then, Michael was doing it, and it’s darkness frightened me.” Gerard sighed deeply and gripped Frank’s hand tight. “When I confronted him, we argued, and Grant had to intervene. He told Michael that he was going to take away all of his books, and ban him from learning any more dark magic. So… Michael gathered his things and told us that he would continue alone. And he did. He left that very night and I haven’t seen him since.” 

Frank blinked at Gerard, stunned. He was quiet for a moment, taking it all in and finding that he was bursting with even more questions. They rattled around his brain, but eventually he settled on asking, “what was his signature magic?”

Gerard’s lips twitched at the corners and he sighed. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Back then I thought he was working on some sort of…” Gerard struggled for the right word, huffing quietly. “I don’t know how else to describe it other than an army… I thought he was concocting a charm that would raise the dead in their hundreds and bend them to his will.”

Frank went cold all over and his eyes went wide. “An army of the dead?” He asked quietly, unable to fathom anything more awful. “Is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I thought so then but…” Gerard frowned, considering. “I’ve done some study into dark magic myself, purely as an educational exercise and… I don’t know that it is possible after all.” He looked at Frank and touched his cheek when he saw how frightened he looked. “But if it is, I doubt there’s anyone alive powerful enough to do such a thing. You’d need an entire coven of powerful necromancers, and it’s just not likely.” 

Not _likely_ and not _possible_ were two very different things and Frank was not put at ease at all. He began to understand why Gerard had been so horrified to see Michael, and he began to hope he would never darken their doorway again. 

“What about you?” He asked quietly, trying to shake away the prickling sensation that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. “Do you have signature magic?”

Gerard laughed softly and nodded, gesturing at the door that led to his ingredients room and beckoning with his finger. The door swung open and one of the crystal perfume bottles floated into his hand. 

“This is my signature.” He smiled, pulling the stopper from the bottle and letting Frank inhale the scent within. “Magic can be infused to all manner of objects and materials. But creating these perfumes has never been done by another witch or warlock before. I weave the charm into the very scent itself, it’s complicated and took me years to perfect.” Gerard looked proud of himself, and Frank could understand why. He smiled warmly at him and pulled him into a sudden, deep kiss.

“It's beautiful.” He whispered against his lips, feeling a rush of affection for Gerard. It was clear now why Michael had talked about him like he wasn’t powerful - Frank could understand how someone who wanted to create an army of the dead would see magical perfumes as ridiculous - but to Frank they were a reflection of Gerard’s kind heart, and he loved that about him.

“I’m glad I’m your apprentice.” Frank told him gently, making Gerard smile. 

“So am I.” Gerard tangled a hand into Frank’s hair and steered his head round so he could kiss him properly. “So am I, Frank.” 

Frank melted into Gerard’s touch, his lips parting to Gerard’s tongue. Energy felt like it was building and crackling between them, making the hairs on their arms stand on end for all the right reasons. 

“Let’s go up to bed.” Frank whispered, pulling on Gerard’s hands to make him stand with him, their lips never coming apart. “Come up to bed with me.” 

Gerard cupped his hands around Frank’s jaw and kissed him deeper, humming his consent into his mouth. He followed Frank like a puppet, letting him pull him upstairs and to Frank’s bedroom this time, where they could hide away together for a while.

***

For several days all talk of Michael ceased, and Frank threw himself into his studies with extra vigour. Coming into his sexuality made him feel more powerful, and whilst Gerard was busy crafting a charm to use on the blessings box in the temple, Frank was busy perfecting glamours, levitating small objects and trying his hand at his own perfume making. 

By the time another week had flown by, Frank was able to change his appearance at will, could levitate just about anything to the ceiling (though his attempt to bring objects from one room to another had resulted in him smashing several expensive bottles, upend half a bookcase and bring Pumpkin yowling through the air when he’d been trying to retrieve a cushion), and his perfumes whilst perhaps not magical were certainly starting to smell good enough to sell.

His reading was improving all the time as well, and most nights he would lay awake beside a burning candle, reading until his eyes ached. Most nights he was accompanied by Gerard, who would fall asleep as soon as they finished making love, and who’s dark hair was a never-ending distraction for Frank, who would wind it idly around one finger whilst reading. 

Gerard slept deeply and always rose early, unlike Frank who could happily sleep until the afternoon now he didn’t have Two Beard thundering at him to get up. Although, waking early was made sweet and easy whenever Gerard coaxed him to life with gentle kisses and promises of breakfast.

Frank really had never been happier in all his life, and even as they discussed the charm for the blessings box and worried about Azeroth, the days went by in a happy glow.

The charm Gerard was creating for the box required several sigils and two mirrors. It was just complicated enough that Frank happily watched Gerard work it all out, but could do nothing to help him. Writing sigils was something Frank had only read about so far, and though Gerard was an excellent teacher, he had to admit it took many years to create sigils that were strong enough to do anything worthwhile.

Frank practised anyway though, and was in the process of drafting a sigil of his own when Gerard approached him early that afternoon, a smile on his face. 

“I’m ready.” He announced, holding up a small velvet bag which Frank had seen him sliding the mirrors in and out of whenever he worked on them. “It’s time to go back to the temple.” 

Frank looked up from the parchment he was hunched over, his fingers black with ink. Whilst reading came naturally to him now, writing was still a struggle, and even just holding a quill correctly was tougher than it had any right to be. 

“What are you working on?” Gerard asked curiously when he saw the state Frank was in. He leaned behind him, looking at the parchment he had stretched across his knees and his lips quirked into a half smile. “This is good.” He said slowly, only just managing to mask his surprise. “Your symmetry is much better, and the lines are bold. What’s it for?”

Frank huffed, his cheeks going pink. He’d started his sigil writing trying to do things like protection marks or talismans for courage, but Gerard had told him _start smaller, try something quantifiable so you can be sure it worked_ ; so Frank had downscaled.

“It’s a temptation sigil.” He admitted, biting his lip. “To persuade Pumpkin to sleep in her basket.” 

Gerard laughed heartily, throwing his head back and going all pink in the face. His reaction made Frank grin and he couldn’t help but laugh a little too.

“It’s quantifiable!” He said loudly, sniggering as Gerard just laughed harder. 

“It is that!” He agreed, honestly impressed that Frank had thought of something so creative. Sigils were complex symbols, designed to flow energy into a specific goal, or increase the power of a charm. As such they were difficult to master, especially so early into learning the craft, and one could never be sure that they had been the cause of something…

But Pumpkin was the perfect target. She had a mind of her own and couldn’t be persuaded to do anything she didn’t want. And what _Pumpkin_ wanted was to sleep on Frank’s bed regardless of whether both Frank and Gerard were in it. And then she would wake before the dawn and insist on walking on their backs, kneading at them through the covers with her claws to show her affection.

Frank had attempted to stop the nighttime disturbances by filling a shallow, wide basket with lots of blankets and cushions. Pumpkin seemed to like it, and slept in it quite happily in an afternoon when she was alone; but as soon as Gerard and Frank went to bed she insisted on joining them.

“I hope it works.” Gerard chuckled, beaming as he offered Frank his hand and pulled him to his feet. 

“Me too.” Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes fondly. “Be nice to get to curl up with you without Pumpkin getting jealous.” He flashed a wink at Gerard, grinning playfully as he strut past him to wash as much of the ink from his hands as he could.

They met at the front door once he was done, applying their glamours without a word. It amused Frank that Gerard never left the cottage without one, but it would seem the only clothes the man owned were white shirts and black trousers, and his persona outside was entirely constructed by magic.

Frank enjoyed playing around with the glamours, and often changed his hair colour or his eyes just for the fun of it. Today though he remained himself and used his glamour to create a simple peasants tunic over his linen undershirt. 

“Ready?” Gerard didn’t comment on the ease at which Frank was now able to change his appearance and just smiled at him as they left the cottage. 

“Once we’ve got the charm in place, what will happen?” Frank asked curiously as they set off towards the town, his eyes drawn to the velvet bag which was now attached to Gerard’s waist belt like a money purse. 

“We’ll be able to read which names people put into the box.” Gerard’s fingers drifted idly towards the bag, drawn to the mirrors inside. “We’ll keep one mirror, and the other I’ll place into the box. Then when I activate the sigils, we’ll be able to use our mirror whenever we want to check what’s gone into the blessings box.” 

“And then what?” Frank asked eagerly. “How will we protect the people that get mentioned?”

Gerard bit his lip, looking at Frank and sighing over how bright and trusting his eyes were. The way Frank looked at him made him want to give him the world, but no amount of magic could make such a thing possible. 

“I’m not entirely sure.” He said honestly and his chest ached to see the disappointment fill Frank’s gaze. “I’m hoping we’ll be able to avert Azeroth’s gaze somehow, but we need to be careful. If he’s been given a name outright, it will be hard to keep turning his gaze away.” Gerard had been worrying about it all week, unbeknownst to Frank. “A more extreme solution would be to use charms to persuade the named people to flee town before Azeroth gets to them but… Again, it’s going to be pretty obvious if all the named people suddenly disappear.”

“But we have to do something.” Frank frowned, mortified that Gerard didn’t have all the answers already. “What’s the point in even seeing inside the box if we can’t do anything about it?” He asked angrily. 

“We need all the information we can get.” Gerard insisted, looking at Frank again and touching his hand quickly, squeezing it. “Maybe the slips of paper aren’t names as such… maybe they’re just hints or clues. In that case we could put in our own clues that would muddy the waters. Make it too difficult to pin anyone down.” 

Frank didn’t look impressed and Gerard’s heart began to race as he looked at him. “It will be okay.” He tried to assure him, but it was clear he didn’t believe it. “We’ll do everything we can Frank, I promise.” 

Frank pulled his hand slowly away, wanting to believe Gerard but unable. He knew it wasn’t fair to pin all of his hopes on Gerard, and he was well aware that he wasn’t coming up with any solutions himself… but then, he hadn’t been practicing magic his entire life like Gerard had.

An awkward silence hung between them all the way to the town square, but they instinctively moved closer together when they noticed the amount of people filling the space. Frank went for Gerard’s hand again and then remembered himself, his cheeks flaming as he pulled it away and tucked both hands into his armpits, his heart racing. 

“Is it a hanging?” He whispered, not sure he could cope with seeing another one, but he knew of no other reason why everyone would congregate like this. The town square was filled with the noise of people all talking over one another, and Frank automatically looked around for Azeroth.

“The gallows aren’t up.” Gerard, who was just a touch taller than Frank, was able to see over everyone’s heads when he tiptoed. “I don’t see Azeroth either.”

Carefully, the two men walked into the crowd, keeping as close to one another as they could. Frank tried to catch snippets of other people’s conversations, and wasn’t surprised to learn that whatever was happening, it was Azeroth related. 

“-I’m not going, I’ve seen enough young girls get killed-”

“-heard that she slept with another woman’s husband-”

“-I heard it was with his _wife_ -”

“-at least the river will clean up the mess this time-”

“The river!” Frank grabbed at Gerard’s wrist and turned to speak directly into his ear. “Azeroth’s at the river. I think he’s going to kill another woman.” 

Gerard went pale, looked around to make sure no one was listening to them, and then pulled Frank firmly away from the crowd and towards the road that led to the temple. It was much quieter there; all the townsfolk were either on their way to the river, or hovering uncertainly in the square. 

“It’s the perfect time to go.” Gerard told Frank quickly, speaking under his breath just to be safe. “The temple will be quiet, and we know for sure that Azeroth won’t be there.” Gerard started along the street with rapid footsteps, still pulling Frank along. 

Frank followed him obediently for a few metres, but then he snapped back to his senses and dug his heels into the dirt, yanking Gerard back. 

“Wait!” He hissed, twisting his arm out of Gerard’s grip. “We can’t just _go_. What about the woman at the river? We need to see what’s going on!”

“What’s going on?” Gerard looked bemused. “We _know_ what’s going on. Azeroth has another suspect to accuse, and no doubt she’ll be dead before the hour is through.”

“But we can _stop it_ -”

“How!?” Gerard laughed without humour, his eyes blazing. “How Frank? How can we save her without risking ourselves?” He waited a moment, but when Frank just looked speechless, he went on. “We _must_ set the charm up at the temple. It’s the perfect opportunity, we mustn’t waste it.” Gerard turned to go again, but Frank refused to follow. 

“So you’re just going to abandon her?” He asked softly, not sure whether he was more angry or surprised. 

“I’m sorry Frank, but there’s nothing we can do.” Gerard’s gaze softened as he looked at Frank and pain flooded through his chest. “I wish there was. Truly, I do, but just like with the hanging, it’s too risky… But this,” Gerard touched the bag at his waist, “this _could_ save people. We have to act now.” 

Frank bit his lip, torn. He looked doubtfully back towards the town square, and then slowly back at Gerard. Somehow, it felt wrong to walk away, knowing a woman was being accused at the river. Even though they had been unable to help at the hanging, and even though Frank had stood silent when Azeroth had accused the kitchen girl at the palace, to walk away and go to the temple now felt even worse than watching all of those things and doing nothing. 

“I’m going to the river.” He said at last, straightening his spine and pushing his shoulders back, his head held up stubbornly. “You go to the temple and set up the charm. It’s not like I could help anyway.” 

Gerard huffed, frustrated, and took a step back towards Frank. 

“Frank, you have to understand, there’s nothing you can do-”

“I’m going anyway.” Frank interrupted him, and Gerard could see there was no point in arguing with him. “Even if I can’t help, I have to see what Azeroth is doing.” 

Frank turned and strode back towards the square. Gerard made a move to follow, but then hesitated. There really was no better chance than now to get to the temple. 

“Frank…” He said weakly, brow furrowed and heart aching with longing. He waited just a second more, just to be sure Frank wasn’t going to turn back, and then he reluctantly turned around himself and went on his own way, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand and not on the pain in his chest.

***

“Bear witness! Bear witness as I prove this woman is a witch!” 

Frank heard Azeroth before he saw him and quickened his pace until he was almost running towards the river. 

He had followed a steady stream of people along the road out of town, until the road itself became nothing more than a dirty track that weaved through the fields towards the river that snaked its way around the kingdom. The sky was bright and blue, and the day was hot, so by the time Frank made it to the river bank he was sweating. 

A large crowd had formed, but Frank was too short to see past them. He glanced around and then began to jog towards a nearby hill which would give him a perfect view of the proceedings. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything, but he didn’t need to listen to know that Azeroth would lay down some bogus charges and then do… whatever he was planning to do to the woman.

By the time Frank made it to the top of the hill, he was panting and wheezing, sweat dripping down his face. He fell against a tree and clung to it, turning quickly to look down at the crowd some distance below him. He could see Azeroth now, stood in front of them all in his usual black robes, with two burly men holding a woman between them. The woman had her hands tied in front of her and wasn’t putting up a fight at all, but the men still held tightly onto her elbows. 

Frank could hear nothing but his own heavy breathing, which he tried to soften in the hopes he might catch a word or two. He strained his ears, but it was hopeless. 

“Hello Frank.”

Frank looked over his shoulder and jumped in surprise as Michael approached him, sauntering up the hill as though he just happened to be taking a leisurely stroll in the area. “Here to watch the show?” He asked pleasantly, waving one his hands airily and making Frank jump again when Azeroth’s voice suddenly rang out loud and clear. 

“-is the purest of all the elements, a gift from Fluenta herself! If this woman has any hand in the dark art of witchcraft then she shall be repelled by the water and will float, and executed for her crimes!” Azeroth was gesturing at the woman held between the men, his face full of malice. “If she be innocent, as she so claims, then she shall sink gracefully into the arms of Fluenta, and her soul shall be awarded a new life.” 

“What!?” Frank almost forgot all about his fear of Michael when he realised what Azeroth was saying and he whirled back to face the river, his face twisted up in despair and outrage. “So whether she’s innocent or not, she dies!?”

“Neat, isn’t it?” Michael said conversationally, coming to stand beside Frank and looked down at the crowd with him. “It’s an old technique used by many hunters… Choose a victim and use the twelve Gods as infallible reasoning… if the victim floats, then they must be a witch and they’ll be killed. And if they drown, there’s no need to feel upset, because they’ll sure be _given a new life_.” Michael scoffed and shook his head, wrinkling his nose up. “The high priest probably sucked the cock of whoever came up with that one.” 

Frank looked at Michael, his eyebrows raised. He didn’t quite know what to say to that, and was honestly just surprised that Michael seemed to be as disgusted as he was. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked slowly, ignoring Azeroth as he began to read out the woman's funeral rites. The crowd joined in quickly, much quicker than they had at the hanging of Clarence Baker, and Frank got the uneasy feeling that this was becoming a routine for them nowadays. 

“I’m here to watch,” Michael said simply, glancing at Frank, “same as you.” He made a show of looking around and then turned to Frank again. “But where’s your master?”

Frank glared at Michael. “Gerard’s not here.” He said simply, refusing to give any more information than that. He knew that Gerard would be mortified when he heard that Frank had ran into Michael, but standing with him beneath the tree, their skin dappled by the sun, Frank realised that Michael wasn’t so scary after all. He certainly had a foreboding air about him, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d first imagined. 

“When I heard about the hunts going on here, I didn’t realise they were so bad.” Michael said softly as they watched the woman get lifted into the arms of one of the men and carried onto a small wooden boat. “Most witch hunts become a frenzy of accusations and finger pointing, but once one or two witches have been ‘caught’ and dealt with, the hunters move on.” Michael watched with a stony expression as the boat was rowed out to the centre of the river. “But this… this lengthy, methodical undertaking of Azeroth Heron’s is… unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Frank looked up at Michael, surprised by the feeling in his voice. “Is there nothing you can do?” He asked quietly, the question coming to him without thinking. 

“I don’t know.” Michael didn’t look at Frank, he kept his eyes fixed on the boat. “Azeroth isn’t like other witch hunters, he won’t be easy to remove…” He looked at Frank and gave a dark smile. “Unless we kill him, of course.”

Frank’s blood went cold and a shiver ran down his spine, but at the same time, a spark of excitement blossomed deep inside him. “Can you do that?” He asked quietly, barely daring to breathe as Michael smirked. 

“He’s a mortal man, is he not?” He shrugged. “I’m sure he’s no fool… he’ll have all manner of protection around him. Perhaps even protective spells - there’s no witch hunter I know of who hasn’t dabbled in the craft enough to try and save their own skin.” Michael smiled at Frank’s affronted look. “Does that shock you?” He chuckled.

Frank thought about it, looking back down at Azeroth. The man was cruel, unfeeling and, just as Michael had said, _methodical_. He clearly believed witches were real, but he did not seem afraid of them. Frank realised it didn’t surprise him at all to imagine Azeroth torturing real witches into creating protective spells for him. 

“No.” He said at last, looking at Michael again. “It doesn’t.” 

Michael smiled. “There are ways to learn if he’s protected by magic.” He said softly, looking back to the boat which was almost directly centre between the two banks. “And once you know how well protected he is, it’s just a simple matter of planning how to kill him.” 

Frank’s excitement doubled, but it soon dampened down again as he thought about Gerard. 

“I don’t think Gerard would want us to kill him.” He said slowly. “It’s too… Dark.”

Michael scoffed, shaking his head. “Yes, my brother has always been determined to do good. Even if it means forcing innocent people to suffer.” 

Frank bit his lip, keeping quiet. He pretended to be concentrating on the woman in the boat, but he felt oddly detached from all that was happening. He watched, feeling numb, as the men tipped her out of the boat and then leaned over it’s edge to watch. 

The woman resurfaced quickly, screaming for help and splashing madly as she thrashed against the rope that bound her hands and ankles. Within moments she was sinking again, and this time she didn’t come back up.

The crowd watched for five minutes in silence, but it was obvious that the woman was gone. Beside Frank, Michael held one hand in front of him, palm flat and fingers straight, and made a slow, wave-like motion.

Frank watched him, wondering what he was doing and only half listening as Azeroth proclaimed the woman as innocent. 

“May Sol grant her a new life that is good and bountiful.” He said softly, lowering his head and making the sign of the twelve. The crowd followed suit, and nobody wept as they turned and began their slow procession back towards town. 

“You see how easily he converts people?” Michael asked Frank as they watched them go. “Over time, death will become so natural to these people, that Azeroth will wipe out half of this town and no one will so much as bat an eyelid.” 

Frank shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling cold despite the baking heat of the sun. 

“He has to be stopped.” He said quietly, watching as the sunlight danced on the river water, trying to imagine the woman’s body at the bottom. “That poor woman…” 

“I wouldn’t weep for her just yet.” Michael waited until the last person had cleared the bank and then he lifted his palm slowly to the sky. As he did so, the surface of the river began to ripple and splash, shuddering as if under some great force, and then something began to emerge from it. 

Frank’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide as the woman began to resurface, face down. She looked as though she were dead, but Michael used his hand to guide her body to the opposite shore and once she was laid out upon the grass she began to heave and choke. 

Frank started forward, but then fell still when he realised they couldn’t approach her. The woman vomited up what must have been an entire bucketful of water, and then rolled onto her back and inhaled deeply. She was shaking and sobbing, but very much alive. 

“Did you-”

“She will not remember how she made it out of the water.” Michael said softly, snapping his fingers and causing the ropes to fall away from the woman’s hands and feet. “I will keep this area empty for the day, and come nightfall I expect she will have fled… She will remember everything leading up to being thrown into the river. She will know to run away.” 

Michael turned as if to leave and Frank rushed to follow him. He grabbed at Michaels hand, pulling him back. 

“You saved her.” He gasped, barely able to believe it. “Thank you.” He couldn’t understand why Michael would do such a thing, not after all Gerard had said about him, but it didn’t matter. Thanks to him, at least one innocent woman was going to live. Frank could feel tears in his eyes and he only just managed to resist embracing Michael in gratitude. 

“Remember my offer.” Michael smiled to himself, as though he could tell what Frank was thinking. “If you change your mind, then seek me out.” 

Before Frank could even ask how he would do so, Michael had turned and vanished.


	13. Loose lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long (as usual) guys! I'm actually having to self isolate for a little while now, so I really hope I'll be able to update a bit more frequently for the foreseeable future! Thank you all as ever for sticking with me, I adore you <3

When Frank returned to the cottage, it was to find it empty. He called for Gerard, standing at the bottom of the stairs, and hovered awkwardly when he realised the other man wasn’t around. He considered leaving and going to the temple, but by the time he got there, Gerard would surely be done setting up the charm, so Frank saw no real reason to make the journey.

Instead he decided to make them dinner. Gerard always made the meals, and they were always delicious, but Frank wanted to return the favour. It would be nice for Gerard, he decided, to come home to find dinner already started. 

It wasn’t until Frank stepped into the pantry that he realised he didn’t know how to cook. He’d watched Gerard plenty of times by now, and it wasn’t like he was an idiot who couldn’t fathom the basics, but he had no idea how to begin a broth or a stew or any of the things Gerard made. 

Frank looked around, feeling foolish, and in the end simply pulled one of the birds that hung from the rafters down. Gerard paid a local hunter for them and they usually had a couple at any one time. Today they had a grouse, which Frank took back into the main room of the cottage and whiled away some time by carefully plucking out the feathers.

Gerard insisted on using every part of an animal, and though Frank was yet to see the uses for everything, he’d seen enough to know to place the feathers into a little sack and to have a bowl ready for the bones later. He used a cleaver to remove the head and feet, and then tied the legs back with a piece of thyme.

Frank rubbed salt over the bird too, though he wasn’t sure how else to season it. He used one of the spits from the fire to spear the bird through the middle, and then stoked the fire until it was nice and hot. It was easy enough to set the spit into place, and Frank turned the handle a couple of times, watching the bird go round and round before leaving it to roast.

By the time he was done, Gerard was still not back and the windows were glowing gold with the setting of the sun. Frank wandered to them, peering out at the road that led to town, but there was no sign of Gerard. 

Frank sighed, unsure whether to feel anxious or not. Gerard surely was fine, but he couldn’t help but worry. He considered leaving again, and decided he’d wait until dusk. If Gerard was still not back by then, then he would go in search of him.

Frank paced restlessly through the cottage, twisting his hands together and gnawing on his lower lip. He kept glancing out of the windows, hoping for a glimpse of Gerard. After a while, it occurred to him that he might see farther if he went upstairs, and without a second thought he dashed to the second floor.

Gerard’s room faced towards the town, so that’s where Frank went. He left the door open behind him, and wandered to the window. He could see the road stretching all the way to the town gates, but there was no sign of Gerard. 

Frank sighed, turning away with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, when something caught his eye. 

He wasn’t sure what made him look, but his gaze was pulled towards one of the many books stuffing the bookcase on the back wall. It was on the very bottom shelf, crammed between two thicker volumes that were ratty and well read. It was bound in a dark, tan leather, with writing on the spine that Frank couldn’t read. 

Something inside Frank was drawn to it and he crossed the room silently to investigate, squatting down on his haunches once he reached the bookcase. He hooked a finger over the spine of the book and began to pull, easing it carefully off the shelf. It was wedged in so tightly that it took some careful wiggling before it came loose, but once it had come part way, Frank was able to pull it onto it’s edge and hook it out onto the floor.

The leather binding, he now saw, was patched over the front and back cover in misshapen pieces, as if made of scraps. It had a strange texture too, not as soft as leather, but dry and crinkly. Frank felt dirty touching it, though he couldn’t say why. 

The front of the book had no writing on it, and when Frank tried to flick through the pages the cover refused to open. Frank frowned, confused, and tried to pry the book open from the middle, with no luck. It may as well have been carved from a single block of wood. 

“Huh.” Frank looked around quickly and then scooped the book up against his chest. He’d read somewhere that some magical tomes had spells placed upon them so no one could open them unless they knew how, to protect them from anyone who might come snooping. Frank hadn’t imagined that Gerard owned such a thing and he didn’t think for a single moment that that must mean he wasn’t supposed to look at it; instead, he viewed it as a challenge and he carried the book eagerly back downstairs. 

It took him a while to locate the book he’d read about lock magic in, but after some searching, he remembered that it was in a pile in the living room of the cottage. It was a room neither he nor Gerard used much, and was mostly just cluttered with more books and parchment, and some old furniture that needed repairing.

Frank had been using the room to practice his levitation spells, and he’d brought the book over to him one day when he’d been perfecting his ability. He wondered if it was fate that he’d happened upon _this_ book and filled with excitement as he sat down amongst the clutter to flick through it. 

He found the chapter he was looking for and read through it quickly. It outlined a variety of spells a witch or warlock could use to keep a book locked, and also some counter-charms. Frank tried several of the diagnostic spells on the tan book but found nothing. He wasn’t sure if that was because he had nothing to find, or if he simply couldn’t cast the charms properly, but kept reading just in case. 

By the time he’d reached the end of the chapter - and tried all of the spells it had to offer - he was starting to feel depressed. He hated that everything was a struggle, and yearned to perform magic as easily as Gerard. He had no doubt that if Gerard were here he’d simply pass his hand over the book and it would spring open.

Frank tried it, just in case, but of course it didn’t work.

But then, a final sentence caught his eye at the very end of the chapter he was reading. 

_‘For books bound with blood magic, it is advisable that a coven leader be summoned for assistance’_.

Frank blinked, reading the sentence over and over again before slowly looking back to the bound book. 

_Blood magic? Coven leader?_

Frank didn’t know any coven leaders, and from what Gerard had told him about covens so far, he didn’t imagine there were many left to get a hold of. 

Undeterred, Frank picked up the book and turned it over in his hands, considering. He hadn’t read much about blood magic either, but he knew that it was considered one of the most powerful forms of magic, and usually used by dark witches and warlocks. It seemed to him that the solution was obvious.

Frank summoned a knife from the main room of the cottage with a flick of his fingers, barely thinking as it floated into his hand. When he glanced at it, he was surprised to find it was the knife he had forged himself, the one that Gerard said he had infused with the power of the full moon. That seemed fitting, he supposed, so he gripped it tightly by the handle and - before he could hesitate - slashed it hard across the palm of his other hand. 

Frank gasped and hissed, clenching his teeth tight against the sudden pain. He dropped the blade and pressed his bleeding palm to the front of the bound book, crinkling the tan leather and smearing blood all over it. 

Enough time passed for Frank to start feeling foolish, but then the book made what Frank could only describe as a _sucking_ sound. 

“Ugh!” Frank yanked his hand away quickly and watched with wide eyes as the blood on the front of the book sank into the leather, disappearing completely, not even leaving a stain to show it had been there. 

Frank’s hand was still bleeding, but he was far more interested in the book to care. He could see that the pages were slightly apart now, as if the book itself had taken a deep breath and expanded. He knew that if he tried, he could read it, so he simply pulled his tunic over his head and clutched it tight in his bleeding hand to stem the flow of blood, and then flicked the book open. 

The writing inside was in an archaic language that Frank didn’t know, neatly written by hand. He flicked through the pages, trying to find anything he could decipher, and discovered several disturbing illustrations. 

Feeling uneasy, Frank turned the pages slower, looking at hand-drawn images of people being tortured and maimed. There were lists and annotated sketches, some were obviously ingredients for potions, and others were clearly instructions for charms. 

Some of the images were not frightening, but utterly indecipherable. One page was completely taken up by the drawing of a hand with one finger pointing upright, a piece of string tight around the fingertip. There was writing on the opposite page, but Frank couldn’t even begin to fathom what it might say, or what the drawing was supposed to represent. 

In the centre of the book was another drawing that filled both pages. Frank leaned closer to look at it, lips parted as he drank in all the little details. 

It showed a woman on a bed, or rather, _above_ a bed, floating high above the sheets. She was twisted into an unnatural shape, her hands and feet bent to claws, and her head was hanging back as though her neck could no longer support it. 

Above the woman, encased in a bubble, was the same lady, drawn this time with a knife in her hand. She was plunging it into the chest of a man who was screaming, dark rivers of ink representing the blood that poured from his wound. 

Frank cocked his head, as if seeing the image from another angle would make more sense, when-

“What are you doing?”

Frank jumped and dropped the book, looking up in surprise at Gerard who was watching him from the doorway. 

Gerard took in the scene with a quick sweep of his eyes - the book, open on the double page illustration; Frank, and the blood that dripped from his hand even with his tunic bunched up in his fist. 

“What have you done?” Gerard rushed to Frank’s side and knelt down, taking his wounded hand and laying his knuckles tenderly against his own palm. “Bloody hell Frank…” He pulled the tunic away and winced at the blood that flowed heavily from the knife slash, the fingers of his other hand fluttering over it like an anxious bird. 

“Come with me.” Gerard pulled Frank roughly to his feet and marched him into the main room of the cottage, his grip tight on his wrist. His brow was furrowed with concern, and he marched about with the air of a man on the brink of panic. 

“Gee, I’m fine.” Frank tried to insist. “It’s just a scratch.”

“That is _not_ just a _scratch_.” Gerard cast Frank an angry scowl over his shoulder, leaving him stood by one of the counters as he walked to the ingredients room. “Any closer to your fingers and you’d have chopped them off.” 

Frank looked down at the wound, and for the first time felt pain throb through his hand. He hissed and instinctively squeezed his fingers down towards his palm, trying to push the two sides of the slash together. 

“Did you do that with the knife you made?” Gerard called from the other room, his tone making it clear that he already knew the answer. “Moon magic has healing qualities, hopefully it will allow me to heal the wound.”

“What do you mean?” Frank looked up anxiously as Gerard strode back into the room, carrying several jars and boxes in his hands.

“That book you were reading,” Gerard dumped the items down, his face set hard, “can only be opened with blood magic. Which I’m guessing from the state of you, you know already.” A muscle twinged in Gerard’s jaw, and Frank realised that he was working hard not to show that he was actually furious. Knowing that he had made him so angry made Frank feel ten times worse. 

“I’m sorry.” He said meekly, holding his hand out flat when Gerard touched it again. “I was just… curious.”

“Curious.” Gerard repeated with a scoff, shaking his head as he hovered one of his hands above Frank’s palm, muttering to himself. A warm sensation passed over Frank’s palm, soothing and gentle, but then it was gone. 

“Blood magic is dark.” Gerard turned away from Frank and began to unroll a strip of starched fabric. “It always comes with a curse. This cut,” Gerard looked anxiously at Frank’s hand, “will not heal.” 

Frank stared at Gerard, his eyes wide. “W - What do you mean it won’t heal?” He whispered, staring at the blood which was pouring so fast it was dripping in a steady stream to the floor. “As in… _never_.”

“Maybe.” Gerard began to sprinkle a combination of dried flowers and crushed bark over the fabric he had unrolled. “That book… usually a sacrifice is given in order to open it. Whoever spills their blood to feed it will not heal - so historically people have had their throats slit and their lives given so that it can be read.”

Frank’s stomach heaved and he went so faint that he had to lean heavily on the counter. “Why do you even _have_ a book like that!?” He demanded, starting to go pale though whether from blood loss or terror it was impossible to tell. 

“I told you - I’ve done research into all kinds of magic. Why were _you_ snooping around to find it?” Gerard retorted, his own anxiety making him lash out. He quickly unscrewed a jar of a thick, purple goo and used a honey dipper to drizzle it over the bandage he was making.

“I wasn’t snooping, I was… Forget it.” Frank didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. He was sinking fast, his knees starting to buckle. He began to slide down the counter, sitting down on the floor with a soft huff as he landed. 

“Am I going to bleed out?” He whimpered, certain he could feel himself going delirious. 

“Not if I can help it.” Gerard raced to sprinkle a few nuggets of an amber substance onto the bandage and then carefully lifted it off the counter, spread between his hands. “If the blade you used has the healing properties I suspect, then you might have done just enough to stop the curse from taking hold completely. If that is the case, then we should be able to heal you.” 

Gerard knelt in front of Frank, his eyes full of concern as he looked him over. “Just… Just don’t panic, okay? Give me your hand.” 

Frank flopped his hand over to Gerard with a soft mew of displeasure, his eyes closed and head lolling. Gerard suspected he was being a bit dramatic, but he didn’t call him out on it; instead he got busy wrapping the sticky, itchy bandage tight around Frank’s palm. 

Almost immediately, blood seeped right through the bandage, a dark stain growing before saturating the fabric and dripping from it. 

Undeterred, Gerard kept wrapping, using the entire length of fabric. He pulled it tight with each loop around, until Frank’s entire hand was encased in a mitten of gooey bandage.

“Wait here.” Gerard strode away, leaving Frank to sit by himself for a moment before reappearing with even more of the starched fabric. 

“Just a little more…” He scooped some more of the purple goo from it’s jar, slathering it over Frank’s hand, and then wrapped the length of bandage around him. By the time he was done, Frank’s hand was the size of a small melon and the pain had been soothed away by whatever substances Gerard had doctored the fabric with. 

“Can you stand?” Gerard slipped his arm around Frank’s waist and helped him carefully to his feet. Frank wobbled a bit, but he was able to walk over to the fire where Gerard sat him carefully on one of the stools. 

“How do you feel?” 

Frank looked at Gerard through heavily lidded eyes. “How am I _supposed_ to feel?” He retorted, looking down at his hand and grimacing. “I’ll never be able to cast charms like this.” He whined, waving his club of a hand around. 

Gerard scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, his frown returning. “Consider yourself lucky that you still have a hand.” He said sternly. “Whatever possessed you to read _that_ book?” 

Frank blushed, unsure of what to say. 

“I dont… I was just waiting for you to come home and…” He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know it was anything bad.”

Gerard didn’t look convinced, but after a moment’s thought he sighed heavily and sank down onto the stool opposite Frank’s. 

“I should have just got rid of it long ago.” He sighed, looking to the fire and blinking in surprise when he noticed the grouse roasting over it. He looked at Frank, and then back at the grouse, and felt a pang of affection echo through his chest. 

“You… made dinner?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Frank’s blush darkened and he bowed his head, feeling foolish. 

“You… That…” Gerard shook his head, amazed. “That’s very kind of you.” He looked at Frank and smiled, his anger simmering away. He scooted his stool closer and curled two fingers beneath Frank’s chin, tilting his head up for a soft kiss. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Frank was surprised by the flood of emotion that Gerard’s kiss caused. He leaned into it, sniffling as he wrapped his good hand around Gerard’s wrist and kissed him harder. 

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered against his lips. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

“I’m not mad.” Gerard assured him, folding his arms around Frank and pulling him into a long hug. “I was just worried… but I think you’ll be okay. Thank goodness you used the knife you did.” 

Frank wiped at his eyes awkwardly with his bandages, then gave up and just sank against Gerard’s chest again. He stayed there for a long time, breathing in Gerard’s familiar scent and letting his embrace soothe away his own fears.

“How did it go at the temple?” Frank eventually remembered to ask. “Does the charm work?” 

Gerard went on tenderly stroking Frank’s hair, holding him to his chest as he nodded. “It works.” He said simply, pressing a kiss to Frank’s hair. 

When he was at the temple, Gerard had been feeling upset and frustrated after the way Frank had left him alone in the town square. He’d spent a little extra time than he needed to, just watching the blessings box and confirming that the complex charm he’d created was working as it should. 

The temple had been empty when Gerard had arrived, which was perfect, but gradually it had started to fill with people. He learned of what had happened at the river by listening in to the hushed chatter all around him, and watched with interest as the shrines for Sol and Eroso had received the most prayers.

He’d sat there for a long time, avoiding coming home. He’d half expected to come back to an argument, but if he’d known what Frank was really doing he’d have rushed back much sooner. 

“Now we just have to wait,” Gerard said quietly after a while, “once we see what names are being put into the box, we can do something to stop Azeroth from getting to those people.”

Frank went tense, nodding slowly in agreement even as his mind went back to the river and what Michael had told him. He bit his lip and looked up at Gerard, wondering whether it was worth mentioning it to him. He got the feeling that he’d be angry to hear that Frank had been talking to Michael, but Michael’s idea to kill Azeroth was too good of a solution to their problem for Frank to not mention it. 

“I… I had a thought, actually…” He said slowly, pulling back so he could look at Gerard properly. “About Azeroth…”

“Oh?” Gerard waited, curious, but Frank seemed hesitant to go on. “What thought?” He asked eventually, giving Frank a gentle nudge. 

“Well…” Frank bit his lip and glanced away. He looked at the grouse roasting over the fire and gave it a little turn just to kill a bit more time. When he finally spoke, he tried his best to keep his voice soft and casual. 

“I thought… Well, I _wondered_... Is it not possible for us to just… just kill Azeroth instead?”

Frank didn’t dare look at Gerard to see his reaction; even just saying it felt awful. When Michael had said it, it had sounded neat and perfect. Frank had no idea what difference it made coming from him instead, but he could tell even without looking that Gerard had gone tense all over. 

“I… Just… Kill him?” He repeated slowly, stunned. “That’s what you thought? That we should _just_ kill him?”

Frank focused intently on the grouse, turning it slowly on it’s spit as he shrugged. “I mean… It will stop all the witch hunts, won’t it? It’s not like the guy deserves mercy after all he’s done.”

Gerard stared at Frank in shock, disappointment crushing him. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from him, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and not automatically react with anger. He tried to imagine why Frank would even think something so dark, and begrudgingly admitted to himself that killing Azeroth did seem like an easy solution.

“How do you think we should kill him?” He asked calmly, taking Frank so by surprise that he finally looked over at him. Gerard held his gaze steady, shrugging one shoulder at him. “How would you propose we do it?”

Frank’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly let go of the spit handle. He wasn’t sure if Gerard was testing him or if he was really considering it, so Frank thought carefully before answering. 

“I don’t know.” He said honestly. “But… But surely there’s some magic we could use?” 

Gerard had feared as much and he inhaled so deeply that he had to sit up tall to get all the air into his lungs. Frank’s words reminded him frighteningly of Michael, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake as he had made with his brother; he would discuss this rationally, and let Frank see the light on his own.

“There is plenty of magic that you can use to take a life.” He nodded solemnly. “All of it is dark, and all of it comes with a price.” He looked pointedly at Frank’s hand. “Even if we could find a charm that would allow us to kill Azeroth without getting one of us hurt in return, there’s no way to kill someone with magic that wouldn’t be _obviously_ magic.” Gerard got to his feet with a heavy sigh and summoned some honey wine and two cups over to the nearest counter. 

“Even if Azeroth was gone, if he’d been killed by magic, you can guarantee that _someone_ would pick up where he left off.” Gerard filled the cups with the wine and handed one to Frank. He remained standing, leaning against the counter as Frank looked up at him. 

“Couldn’t we make it look like it wasn’t magic?” He asked softly, not ready to give up that easily. “Make it look like an accident or… or an attack from someone else?”

Gerard grimaced, swallowing a mouthful of the strong wine. “It’s not that easy.” He said simply. “If you want to kill a man, then you need to get your hands dirty.”

Frank glanced at his bandaged hand and sighed, sipping morosely at his own wine. He thought of the book, and how big of a price he had to pay just to _read_ it. He couldn’t imagine what killing someone would mean. 

“What about that book?” He asked softly, thinking to the image he had seen. The woman in the illustration had been floating above a bed, and the stabbing looked as though it were happening in a dream. 

“What about it?” Gerard asked coolly, narrowing his eyes at Frank. 

“The picture I was looking at… it… Didn’t it show how to kill someone in their dreams?” Frank felt terrible even asking, and he couldn’t even bring himself to meet Gerard’s eyes anymore. Instead, he looked into his wine cup, as if he had found something interesting floating in the amber liquid. 

“To enter another person’s dreams is advanced magic.” Gerard said quietly, turning to beckon a finger at the living room doorway. “It requires a level of skill neither of us possess, And besides, dream riding has never had it’s secrets documented…” 

Frank could practically hear Gerard’s unspoken doubts, and a split second later, the tan book came floating into the room. Gerard grabbed it from out of the air and flicked it to the centre pages, looking at the illustration Frank had been thinking of. 

“Ah.” Some of Gerard’s tension eased. “This is astral projection.” He said, as if that explained everything. He closed the book again and muttered something to it, waving his hand over the cover, and the pages all sucked in together with a soft _schnk_ sound, locked once more. 

Frank looked at the book uneasily and then back at Gerard. “Astral projection?” He repeated quietly, his eyes questioning. “What-?”

“It’s a complex ritual that allows the conjurer to project their astral form.” Gerard swirled his wine around its cup and then took a sip. “Your astral form is your non-physical body.”

“So like your soul?” Frank asked breathlessly, his eyes wide with wonder. 

“I suppose.” Gerard watched Frank closely as he explained. “It’s very difficult magic, but much easier than dream riding. When done correctly, you can project your astral form anywhere you desire. It’s useful for spying; or delivering emergency messages to far flung places.” 

Frank sat up straighter, his eyes eager. “So we could astral project into the palace?” He confirmed, smiling when Gerard nodded. “And we could kill Azeroth?”

“No.” Gerard frowned, looking Frank over as if seeing him for the first time. The look made Frank shrink back, his cheeks pink. 

“Your astral form cannot physically interact with the places you project to.” Gerard told him firmly. “If you wanted to stab someone like in that image, you’d have to create a physical body. Usually, this would be done by possessing someone present at the place you’ve gone to. It’s extremely difficult and _dangerous_.”

Frank pouted, but his mind was whirring. “We could possess Azeroth?” He asked slowly, daring to look at Gerard again. “We could make him kill himself.” It was perfect, so perfect that Frank couldn’t help but feel excited. “If he killed himself then no one would ever suspect-”

“ _No._ ” Gerard snarled, starting to look angry. “You can’t kill the body you have possessed without risking harm to yourself.” He moved closer to Frank, his hazel eyes blazing. “You could trap your soul with Azeroth’s, killing you both. Or you could end up stuck in the palace, without a body and with no way to get back.” Gerard cupped Frank’s face in one hand, tilting his head back to force him to hold his gaze. 

“Even if you possessed someone else within the palace, you’d be no safer than if you confronted Azeroth yourself.” He said as clearly as he could. “You must understand Frank, _killing him is not the answer_.” 

Frank’s cheeks burned pink, and guilt swirled uneasily in his belly. He refused to look away though, and he refused to be talked down so easily. 

“Because it’s the wrong thing to do?” He asked quietly. “Or because you’re afraid we’ll be hurt?”

Gerard’s fingers tightened on his jaw. “Where is this coming from?” He asked darkly. “You’ve never expressed a desire to kill before.” 

“I don’t _desire_ it.” Frank scoffed, knocking Gerard’s hand away. “But I don’t want to watch anymore women get killed! Azeroth isn’t going to stop Gee, you must know that.” Frank’s eyes became soft and pleading and he stood, putting his cup down so he could grab Gerard’s hands. “He’s only going to keep killing, unless we do something to stop him! And killing him… I know it doesn’t feel good to think about it but it will _end_ all of this!”

Gerard’s lips were parted in shock, and for a moment he said nothing, but then he eventually pushed Frank away and shook his head. 

“Death is not the answer.” He snarled, and his expression was so set that Frank knew there was no way he was going to get through to him. “And if you really think there’s no other option, then you should leave.” Gerard’s voice wavered but his eyes were just as hard as ever. “I will not teach you dark magic.” 

Frank stood back, Gerard’s words hurting more than they had any right to. He felt as though he’d been stabbed right in the chest and when he tried to respond his breath came out choked so that he couldn’t formulate a single word. 

Gerard waited a moment, but when Frank didn’t reply he turned to grab his cup and the rest of the wine, turning to march upstairs alone. When he made it to his room, Frank heard him the slam the door so hard that the cottage seemed to shake.

***

Things were tense and awkward for days after.

Frank focused hard on his studies once more, determined to do well and prove to Gerard that he was worth keeping around. They didn’t talk about Azeroth anymore, and Frank didn’t dare mention that he had seen Michael at the river.

Gerard checked the mirror he carried around in it’s velvet purse every few hours. Sometimes he would just tense his jaw and slip it away again, but sometimes he’d frown and write something down before tucking it away. Frank wanted to ask what he was doing, but things were so awkward between them that he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Gerard approached him. 

“I think I know who the next victim will be.” Gerard sat down beside Frank who was lying in the garden, soaking in the sun and trying to get rid of the anxiety that was constantly plaguing him. He sat up on his elbows when Gerard joined him, his heart leaping into his throat. 

“You do?”

“These are the names that have gone into the blessings box so far.” Gerard unrolled a small piece of parchment that he had taken to carrying in his sleeve. He spread it out between them and Frank found himself more focused on Gerard than the list. Ever since the day with the dark magic book, he hadn’t spent more than a few minutes with Gerard at a time, and he was aching for him. 

Gerard was dressed in a billowing white shirt, untied at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. He’d pinned the sleeves into place with long hat pins, and Frank found himself distracted by his pale forearms and the subtle thread of blue veins in his wrist. He reached out without thinking, touching him with one fingertip and following one of the veins to his elbow. 

“Frank?” Gerard tapped the list with a frown. “Are you paying attention?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” Frank pulled his hand away with a blush and turned to look at the list. He was surprised by how few names were on it, only three. “Is that it?”

“Mhmm.” Gerard tapped the bottom name, _Linda Baker_. “This name appears seven times. Seems everyone is upset with her.” 

“The baker's wife?” Frank hazarded a guess. 

“His daughter.” Gerard looked uneasy and Frank waited for him to say what was on his mind. He wasn’t waiting long. “She’s ten.”

Frank’s eyes went wide and his heart felt as though it dropped into his stomach. He stared at Gerard like he was mad and shook his head slowly. 

“Ten. _Ten_.” He repeated, as if saying it louder would somehow make it not true. “How can they accuse a _child_ of witchcraft!?”

“I don’t know.” Gerard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck which was aching with a tension that had been getting steadily worse as the days went by. “It seems things are becoming even more awful if children are going to start being accused. I’d like to think that not even Azeroth would harm a child but…”

He didn’t need to say it out loud for Frank to know what he was thinking. What they were _both_ thinking. Age was not going to save this girl. 

“What are we going to do?” Frank sat up properly and turned to face Gerard, his look of fear dissolving into something sterner. “Whatever you need me to do, just tell me Gerard.”

Gerard looked at Frank, his eyes sad and wary. He looked Frank over, like he wasn’t sure whether to trust him, but he knew the fierceness in his eyes could not be faked. 

“My original plan was to alter the names in the box, but it’s too late. They were collected sometime this morning.” Gerard bowed his head and Frank was surprised when he reached out to touch his hand. “It’s my fault. I should have acted sooner but I… I wanted to be sure. I didn’t _believe_ , and now-”

“It’s not too late.” Frank said firmly, grabbing Gerard’s hand and squeezing it. “It’s not. We can still do something. _Think_ Gerard. What can we do?” 

Gerard lifted his gaze and gave a weak smile. This seemed much more like Frank than the man who had asked him to kill Azeroth four days ago. He gripped his hand back just as tight and took a deep breath, nodding. 

“We can’t avert Azeroth’s gaze now it’s already been fixed. But we can try to protect Linda another way.”

“Okay.” Frank nodded eagerly. “So what do we do?” 

“I’m not sure what accusations Azeroth will come up with.” Gerard said slowly. “But if we could stop him from finding anything, even the slightest reason… even a made up one.” Gerard bit his lip. “It all depends on whether he intends to interrogate the girl to find out why she’s been named, or if an excuse has already been given to him.”

Frank bit his lip. “So… What can we do?”

Gerard looked at him, at the way he was nibbling anxiously on his lip, and an idea struck. 

“I think I know.” He gasped, starting to smile. “It means teaching you a new charm by tomorrow but-”

“I’ll learn it.” Frank said quickly, getting up when Gerard pulled him to his feet, his excitement contagious. “What is it?”

Gerard grinned at him, his eyes sparkling with new life. “It’s a charm I should thank Michael for actually… we used to tease one another with it when we were younger.” He pulled Frank towards the cottage, looking over his shoulder as he said. “Have you ever made string figures before?”

Frank smiled, confused. “Uh… No?”

“They take some practice, but you’ll get it.” He ushered Frank into the cottage and shut the door behind them. “If you can pick it up, we can watch Azeroth making his enquiries and use the string to silence people.” Gerard rushed across the room and bent beneath one of the counters, rummaging around for a moment before reappearing with a ball of string in his hands. “If no one can say why they accused Linda, then he’ll have no reason to harm her.”

Frank thought for a moment, unsure, but Gerard looked so happy he didn’t have the heart to argue. He smiled warmly and nodded, just glad that Gerard wanted him around again. 

“Okay. Show me what to do.”


	14. Storm in a teacup

Gerard snipped two long pieces off the ball of string, and then tied each piece to itself to make a pair of circles. He then looked at Frank and held out his hand. 

“Let’s see how you’re healing.” He said, his gaze soft and warm in a way it hadn’t been for days. 

Frank lay his bandaged hand against Gerard’s, his cheeks going slightly pink. Gerard hadn’t told him to change the dressings at all, so he’d kept his hand balled up in the bandages, hoping that whatever it was Gerard had smothered it in would do the trick.

“What happens if it hasn’t healed?” Frank asked quietly, watching Gerard’s face as he carefully started to unwind Frank’s bandages. Gerard glanced up at his eyes, his face solemn. 

“Let’s just see, shall we?” He leaned over Frank’s hand again, unwrapping it layer by layer. 

Frank huffed, pouting his lips in a scowl. He wasn’t an idiot, and he knew that if the purple goo and the plant bits hadn’t done anything to heal him so far, then there was a chance his hand would just remain wounded. He couldn’t live his life with it in bandages, and even if he did he’d bleed out eventually… but the thought of severing his hand made him feel sick.

Frank had just enough time to worry about it to the point of hysteria, when the final bandage fell away. He turned his hand over eagerly, eyebrows lifting in surprise. There was no hint of the goo that Gerard had soaked him in; his hand was perfectly dry, but his palm was an angry red and the gash down the centre was ugly and congealed, crimson but not bloody. 

Gerard looked at it closely, turning Frank’s hand gently. He ran a finger ever so carefully over the wound, feeling the delicate flesh and the firming scar beneath. 

“It’s not going to look pretty.” He sighed, looking at Frank again. “But it will heal enough to function. You’ll have a bad scar, but it’s the best we could have hoped for.” 

Frank breathed a sigh of relief, his head swimming. “As long as it’s okay.” He said quietly, just glad that he wouldn’t lose his hand. “I don’t mind having a scar.” 

“Does it hurt?” Gerard asked, bending Frank’s fingers towards his palm with a gentle touch. “Can you make a fist?”

Frank tried, and found that he could. There was a pulling sensation deep in his hand, but it didn’t really hurt. When he said as much, Gerard looked relieved. 

“We’ll keep it dressed for now, to try and reduce the scarring.” He summoned more bandages and the purple goo from the other room. “But it won't be as heavy this time. You’ll be able to use your hand properly.” 

“I can practice my magic properly again.” Frank beamed, thrilled to hear it. Even just a few days without being able to properly conjure had left him feeling miserable. 

“You’ll need it for what we plan to do.” Gerard rubbed the goo gently into Frank’s palm, and then wrapped just one long strip around his hand, starting over his palm and skipping past his thumb to end around his wrist. He secured it in place with rose thorn and a charm and then kissed Frank’s fingers before letting his hand go. 

“You must tell me if it starts to hurt at all.” He said firmly and Frank immediately agreed. 

“I will.” He promised, flexing his fingers and smiling warmly at Gerard. “Thank you.” 

Gerard passed one of the loops of string to Frank, their fingers lingering where they touched. Energy felt like it was growing intensely between them, and Frank couldn’t resist leaning in closer. 

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” He asked cheekily, grinning when Gerard’s hand came up to cradle his cheek. He leaned into the touch, his eyelashes fluttering. “Because I’ve really missed you.”

Gerard sighed heavily, but despite his attempts to look fierce, a smile tugged at his lips. 

“Depends… Does this mean you’re still intent on trying to use murder to solve things?” 

Frank turned his head and pouted against Gerard’s palm. He still did believe that killing Azeroth was the perfect solution, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. 

“I trust you.” He said instead, glancing up at Gerard again. “I trust that we can figure this out together.” 

Gerard could tell that Frank had dodged the question, but his answer was good enough for him. He tipped his head back with his hand on his jaw and leaned down to meet his lips in a tender kiss, his thumb stroking over the hard edge of his jaw to the soft flesh beneath. 

“I trust you too.” He whispered. “Now let's get to work.” 

***

It was a grey, miserable day when they woke the next morning. It suited them perfectly, Gerard said, and he retrieved two long black cloaks for them to wear once they left the cottage. They ate their breakfast in silence - Frank, trying to remember the complicated tangling of string he had learned the day before; and Gerard, carefully watching Azeroth’s route through town using a charmed piece of lead over a map of the kingdom.

Once he’d made it to the town square, where they already knew he started every day with more speeches on witchcraft, they donned their cloaks and left to walk into town. 

“Follow my lead.” Gerard told Frank as they strode as fast as they could along the dirt road which had become soft and muddy from the rain. “Keep to the shadows and we won’t be seen.”

Gerard had already applied a glamour to them both, one too complicated for Frank to attempt with no time to practice. It didn’t alter their clothes or their bodies in any way, but instead it caused an illusion that would blur them into the shadows. Anyone who happened to glance their way would see nothing but rain, and would only be able to see them properly if they really _looked_. 

“How will we know who to charm?” Frank asked breathlessly, almost having to jog to keep up with Gerard. 

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Gerard glanced at Frank, his smile almost hidden in the shadow of his hood. “It all depends on how Azeroth is going to conduct his investigation.”

Frank nodded, swallowing hard. He hadn’t dared ask what they would do if Azeroth _didn’t_ investigate the girl. If he did as Frank suspected and merely dragged her from her home and declared her a witch, he wasn’t sure there would be anything they could do about it.

When they reached the town square, it was to find it surprisingly busy despite the rain. People were stood around in groups, huddled up against the weather and muttering to one another in hushed voices; Frank noticed that they all kept staring at one house in particular, and his heart leapt when he noticed the unmistakable black robes of Azeroth himself, stood in the doorway of the building. 

“That must be the baker’s house.” Gerard grabbed Frank by the elbow and pulled him away from the crowds, towards a row of houses instead. They huddled in the shadows there, watching Azeroth closely. The hunter was pounding on the door to the house, but the rain was so heavy and they were so far away that they could barely even hear his fist against the wood.

“How will we know what he’s-”

“Shh.” Gerard cut Frank off before he could finish, holding up one hand. He closed his eyes and spread his fingers, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Words in the water,” he whispered, “just for our ears. Words in the water, just for our ears.” He flicked his fingers and when Azeroth next spoke, his words rang in Frank’s ears as clearly as if he were talking right beside him.

“Mr Baker, I demand that you open this door!” 

Frank jumped and pressed closer to Gerard, his eyes wide. No one else was affected by the charm Gerard had cast, and the raindrops became muffles as Azeroth’s voice trailed to them. 

“In the name of The Twelve, open this door or we shall break it down!” Azeroth pounded against the door again, not letting up this time until eventually, the sound of a deadbolt sliding back made him pause in his banging. There was a moment of hesitation, and then gradually the door opened a crack. 

“M-Master Heron, what can I d - do for you?” The baker peered out nervously, glancing over Azeroth’s shoulder at the watching crowds beyond. He swallowed thickly and then looked at Azeroth, fear written all over his face. 

“I am here on grave business.” Azeroth told the baker in a low tone, his words carrying perfectly through the raindrops to Frank and Gerard. “It will be better for you and your family if we talk inside.”

The baker looked at the watching townsfolk again. He didn’t need any more persuading than their suspicious glares; he nodded once and stood back, opening the door just enough for Azeroth to enter, and then closed it quickly behind him. 

Frank looked at Gerard, eyes wide. “Now what?” He hissed. 

“Now we listen.” Gerard said simply, watching the house intently, as if he could see right through the walls. 

“I apologise for this intrusion, baker.” Azeroth’s voice was still loud and clear. “I understand you have a daughter, Linda?”

Frank could hear the terror in the baker’s voice as he replied. “Y - Yes sir, she’s my only child.”

“Is she home? I need to speak with her.” Azeroth spoke calmly, and Frank could imagine him drifting around the house, picking up things that didn’t belong to him and inspecting them like he had when he’d intruded on Frank’s space at the forge. 

“I - Is Linda home?” The baker made a long, thoughtful noise, as if he wasn’t sure. Frank could tell he was desperately searching for an excuse as to why she’d be out, and also knew that it was fruitless. If he could tell that the baker was going to try and lie, then surely Azeroth did too.

“There is no reason for you and your family to come to harm.” Azeroth’s low, deadly drawl made shivers run down Frank’s spine. “Not if you cooperate… but if you try to stand in my way, then you will leave me no choice…”

“He’s going to give her up.” Gerard whispered beside Frank, his voice full of disbelief. “I can feel it.”

“Linda… Linda come here please.” The baker suddenly called out, his voice trembling. 

“Good man.” Azeroth purred. “The twelve Gods will look kindly on you…”

Beside him, Frank could feel Gerard shifting. His hands were hidden beneath his robes, but Frank could tell that he was pulling the loop of string he was holding around his fingers, ready to start casting. Following his lead, Frank did the same. 

“Come here my love,” the baker’s voice carried to them on the rain, “Master Heron here needs to speak with you.”

Frank felt a surge of rage and disgust rise like bile in his throat. How could anyone give up their child so quickly? The man hadn’t even tried to fight. Frank twisted his own string around his fingers, getting himself ready to grab the tongue of Linda or her father, depending on who said the most damning thing. 

“Miss Linda…” Azeroth spoke softly, and Frank could practically imagine him crouching down to get to her level, “do you know who I am?”

“Yes sir.” The young girl replied, calm and unafraid, innocently unaware of why this man must be in her house. “You’re Azeroth Heron. You hunt witches.” 

“That’s right. And do you know why I am here?”

The girl thought a little bit longer this time. “Hmm… No, sir.” She eventually said, a tinge of doubt in her voice, but nothing yet like the fear grown women had shown when approached by Azeroth. 

“I am here, because my enquiries into the plague on this kingdom has brought me here. Do you know what that means?” Azeroth spoke gently, as if he wasn’t accusing a child of the unimaginable.

Little Linda Baker considered his words for a while, and when she spoke again she sounded confused. “No.” She said slowly. “I don’t understand.” 

“Answer me honestly now child,” Azeroth said firmly, “be you a witch?” 

Frank readied his string, heart racing. 

“Sir, this is madness!” To his surprise, it was the girl's father who spoke, his voice shrill with fear. “You can’t truly believe-”

“Silence!” Azeroth hissed. “Do not get yourself into more trouble, _sir_.” 

The man fell silent, but Frank could hear his heavy breathing. “Please…” He whispered. “This is my _daughter_...”

“I’m not a witch.” Linda sounded more confused than ever, and it broke Frank’s heart to hear how unafraid she was. As though she still didn’t understand the danger she was in. 

“Please sir, what has made you suspect her?” The baker asked Azeroth breathlessly. “She has done nothing wrong, she’s a good girl-”

“What is this then?” Azeroth asked darkly. 

“She was born with it.” The baker sounded like he was on the brink of tears. “It is nothing, just a birthmark.” 

“If that be true, then it will bleed when I prick it.” Frank heard the familiar sound of a case being snapped open, taking him back to the day in the palace when the kitchen girl Emma had been pricked and branded a witch. He could see in his mind’s eye the long needle-like instrument that Azeroth pulled from the case that he kept within his robes.

“I give you the choice, child. Do you wish to conduct this test here, in private, or outside, in front of the people who would accuse you.” 

“Who has accused her?” The baker demanded, but Azeroth cut him off. 

“I was speaking to her.” He said simply. “So what do you choose girl?”

Frank waited, fully expecting Linda to choose to conduct the test in private, but to his surprise she didn’t. 

“Outside.” She said confidently. “I’m not a witch, but I’ll tell you who is.” 

Frank almost dropped his string in surprise. He looked at Gerard, his eyes wide, and saw that Gerard was looking just as stunned. He met Frank’s gaze, and for a moment they just gaped at each other, but then Gerard snapped back to life. 

“I’m taking her tongue.” He whispered, and Frank could see his hands moving beneath his robes. “You take anyone in the crowd who tries to point a finger.” 

Frank nodded, his mouth hanging open dumbly. He started to twist the string around his fingers again, but he couldn’t properly begin tangling it until he knew who he needed to silence. 

“You know of a witch, child?” Azeroth asked softly, barely concealing the excitement in his voice. “Show me.” 

The door to the house opened and Azeroth stepped out into the rain, followed closely by the baker and his daughter. Linda was a small, skinny girl, dressed in a simple woolen dress. Her father draped a heavy cloak around her shoulders and rushed to pull the hood over her head, but not before Frank had seen her face. 

Linda Baker had a birthmark like a wine stain across the left side of her face. It spread from her forehead to her chin, purple in places and red in others. 

“Oh…” Gerard breathed, and Frank knew he had seen it too. It seemed awful to imagine that people had accused this little girl purely because of a birthmark, but Frank already knew that had been the case. 

“Friends and neighbours,” Azeroth called out to the waiting townsfolk, “this child comes before you as a suspect of witchcraft. She insists the accusations against her are false, and shall endeavour to prove as such.” Azeroth held the long, golden needle he had taken from his robes aloft. “I shall use this needle to prick her witches mark. If she bleeds, she is innocent; and if she does not, then her guilt will be certain.” 

Azeroth turned to Linda, who stood calmly with her father’s hands on her shoulders. “You said you knew of another witch, child.” Azeroth sneered at her. “Point them out to me.” 

Gerard frantically pulled his string, tightening the knot he had created. Linda opened her mouth to speak, but when she tried to talk, she was silent. 

“I have her.” Gerard whispered, tense beside Frank. 

“Do not be shy.” Azeroth purred, stepping closer to Linda. “Now is not the time to hesitate.” 

Linda tried to speak again, but with Gerard’s charm holding her tongue, she couldn’t get any words out. She panicked for a moment, everyone staring at her, waiting… 

“Speak girl!” Azeroth demanded, grabbing her forcefully by the elbow.

Linda looked up into his face, her mouth open, and pointed at her tongue. 

“Gee… Gee, let her go.” Frank whispered, his heart racing. “Let her speak Gerard, or people will realise-”

“Is this a witch’s doing?” Azeroth hissed, gripping Linda by both shoulders and shaking her lightly. “Has a witch got your tongue?”

The little girl nodded, her eyes wide. 

“ _Gerard_.” Frank grabbed at Gerard through his cloak. “You need to stop-”

“I _have_.” Gerard slipped one hand out to show the string dangling off one finger. “She should be able to speak now!”

“What?” Frank looked back at Linda, who was now striding into the centre of the square, turning this way and that like a dog with a scent. Her eyes were wild, her shoulders hunched forward; her father was begging for him to stop but she was deaf to his pleas. 

“Show me.” Azeroth snarled as he followed her. “Show me the witch.”

Everywhere Linda turned, the crowd shrank away from her. She was like someone possessed, storming to and fro, her eyes narrowed. She seemed to be looking for someone, and when she found them she went rigid, one finger pointing accusingly. 

“No!” The young girl she was pointing at shrieked and tried to hide behind her mother. “I’m not a witch!”

“This girl is the witch?” Azeroth asked Linda, his eyes blazing with excitement. “Is it she who has your tongue?”

Linda nodded frantically, pointing so hard her arm was shaking. 

“This is madness.” Gerard whispered. 

“I’m not a witch, it’s not me it’s-” The accused girl suddenly went silent and started scratching at her mouth and tongue, as if she too had been suddenly rendered speechless. 

“Frank… You’re not..?”

“No.” Frank revealed his own string, dangling useless from his fingers. “It’s not me.” 

Gerard looked around, his heart racing and eyes full of suspicion. He searched the faces of the crowd, but when he saw no one he recognised, he looked to their hands instead, trying to find whoever must be casting the charm. 

Frank looked around too, but the only other person he knew with magical ability was Michael, and if he was wearing a glamour then he’d never know even if he was looking right at him.

The second girl was now storming around, scratching at her own face so violently she began to draw blood. She whirled in circles, her skirt fanning out around her, and then came to an abrupt stop to point her finger at another girl, barely any older than herself and Linda. 

“Another witch?” Azeroth looked delighted, as if he could scarcely believe his luck. 

“I’m not a witch.” The third girl took a step back, but it was as if some awful spell had been cast on her. She accused another girl within moments, and then that girl accused another. The townsfolk were in uproar, trying to dodge the girls and shield their own children all at once. 

“What is happening?” Frank whispered, looking frantically at Gerard. “We’ve got to _do_ something.” 

“I can’t see who’s casting.” Gerard was starting to flood with fear as he looked about the crowd again and again. 

Pandemonium had broken, and the young girls who were accusing one another all began to scream and shout. 

“She’s the witch!”

“No _she’s_ the witch!”

“I saw her kill a cat and take it’s bones!”

“I saw _her_ dancing with Heleshki in the moonlight!”

“Take them all.” Azeroth laughed, turning to call out to the guards that had accompanied him. They were watching from one of the side roads, but they came forward at his behest. “Put them in the castle dungeons until I can interrogate them.” 

“No!” The baker rushed forward as Linda and the other children were seized by the guards, led by spearpoint towards the road that led to the castle. “Please, my daughter! She’s no witch! _Please_ , she’s all I have in this world!”

Azeroth stepped forward, moving between the baker and the guards. Linda was screaming and crying, fighting against the grip on her elbow to no avail. The guards marched her and the others away from the square with expressionless faces. 

“I will not warn you again Baker.” Azeroth towered above the man, his sodden black robes pooled around his feet. “If your daughter is as innocent as you claim, then you have nothing to fear.”

Azeroth turned away, facing the square at large. “Let what you have witnessed today be a warning to you all… if the witches you harbour are left unchallenged, then soon all will be lost.” He turned slowly, making eye contact with as many people as possible. “If any of you here have any… suspicions… Then bring them to me now.” 

An awkward silence descended over the crowd, until only the patter of the rain could be heard. Azeroth waited, looking at them all. 

Frank hurried to ready his string again, determined to silence anyone who tried to accuse another. 

“Stop this _now!_ ” 

Frank almost dropped his string at the familiar voice, his eyes going wide with horror as he turned to see Jamia climbing onto the fountain in the centre of the square. She had been invisible in the crowd, dressed in a heavy winter cloak like so many other people. Beneath it she was dressed simply, in a brown dress not unlike the kind any commoner would wear. It was only when she threw back her hood and revealed the intricate braids in her hair that anyone would guess she was from the palace.

“Ah, if it isn’t one of the Queen’s little birds.” Azeroth’s furious look melted away into one of calm indifference as he turned to Jamia, striding towards her across the square. “You have something to say, girl?”

“Oh no.” Frank tried to step forward out of the shadows, but Gerard pulled him back. 

“Hold on.” He whispered, his tone apologetic but his words firm. “Be careful.”

“But Jay-”

“I do, as it happens.” Jamia had that stubborn look on her face that Frank knew so well, her hands planted on her hips and legs spread in a power stance. She had looked like that many times before, usually when she was telling Frank off for forgetting to meet her or for insulting her in some way. She was not a woman to be messed with, or so Frank had once thought… but he couldn’t see her possibly being a match for Azeroth Heron. 

“Those girls are not witches.” Jamia spoke loudly, making sure the whole town could hear her. “This whole witch hunt has gone too far! If you think you are going to get away with hurting _children_ -”

“Do not be fooled, Miss Nestor.” Azeroth didn’t need to raise his voice for it to be heard perfectly. “An innocent face can hide the darkest of evils.”

“But they’re _children!_ ” Jamia snarled. 

“They accused each other.” Azeroth shrugged, unapologetic. 

“Of course they did!” Jamia rolled her eyes and threw her hands up, as if it should be obvious. “They were all terrified! Of course they would accuse each other to try and save themselves. Were you never a child?” She demanded, glaring at Azeroth who only smirked at her. “Children _lie_. How many of us, as children, were accused of doing something naughty and blamed it on someone else?”

There were a few soft murmurs in the crowd, but no one spoke outright to support Jamia.

“By your own logic, Miss Nestor, at least one of them must be guilty.” Azeroth said calmly. “Rest assured that I shall find out who. If the others are innocent, as you claim, then I shall return them safely to their families.”

“You shall return them _now_.” Jamia leaned forward, daring to look Azeroth right in the eye, her teeth clenched. “Can you not see that you are not welcome here, witch hunter?” She asked him, her voice low and cold. 

“Gerard we have to stop her.” Frank started forward again, only to be held back once more. “She’s going to get herself killed.

“Miss Nestor, I had no idea I repulsed you so.” Azeroth looked her up and down slowly, giving nothing away in his expression. His eyes stripped her from head to toe, and a muscle ticked at the side of his mouth. “I feel as though I am seeing you for the first time…”

“I’ll cause a distraction. You grab her.” Gerard let Frank go at last and turned to face the sky. He closed his eyes, turning his hands palm up as he whispered in the shadows, 

“East wind bring the dark like night. West wind bring the cold like ice. North Wind bring the thunder crash. South wind bring the lightning flash.” 

As Frank walked rapidly across the square, hiding in his cloak and keeping close to the thickest parts of the crowd, the wind began to howl. The raindrops which had been fat and heavy all morning, suddenly became thin like needles. The wind whipped them into Frank’s face despite his hood, stinging sharply where they pierced his cheeks.

Within seconds the sky was so thick with storm clouds that the entire town was bathed in a blanket of darkness. The wind howled like a banshee, and the first rumble of thunder echoed from far in the distance. 

The rain became heavier and sharper, the wind whisking it into a frenzy as the townsfolk began to cry out and huddle into their cloaks. 

“Storm!” Someone shouted loudly. “Get inside!”

Azeroth turned away from Jamia to look at the commotion around them, and Frank seized the opportunity to grab Jamia by the arm and yank her down off the fountain.

“Agh!” Jamia fell into Frank’s arms, but she didn’t get chance to see what was happening before Frank turned her away from Azeroth and spread his arms wide, hiding her behind his cloak. They weren’t in the shadows, but with the dark sky and the beating rain, he hoped his glamour would be enough to disguise them.

“Shh.” Frank whispered to her, looking her in the eyes as she stood against his chest. She met his gaze, lips parted in surprise, and fell quiet. Sensing his urgency, she remained perfectly still against him.

Azeroth turned back to the fountain and blinked in surprise when he found it empty. He turned around, peering over the heads of the townsfolk who were rushing back to their houses like Heleshki themself was after them, bumping into each other and causing utter mayhem.

Azeroth snarled, taking a few steps this way then that way, but Jamia was gone. He turned in a circle, making sure he really couldn’t see her, and then pulled his robes tighter about himself. Lightning flashed across the sky, forked and angry, and he had no choice but to admit defeat and stride back towards the castle.

Frank turned as Azeroth passed them, keeping Jamia shielded from view. Only once Gerard appeared at his side and confirmed it was safe did he dare lower his arms.

“Frank!?” Jamia looked around, bemused at the emptying square. The rain had soaked her to the bone through her cloak and the hammer of thunder getting closer made her shudder. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Frank snapped back, his face pinched with concern. “Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed!?”

“Of course not!” Jamia stepped back from Frank and looked about again, as if trying to make sense of what was happening around them. The storm was raging so violently that she had to shout to be heard over the howling wind. “Someone had to stand up for those girls!” 

“But not you!” Frank cried, grabbing Jamia by the shoulders and gently shaking her. “He will kill you for this!”

“If not me, then who?” Jamia yanked hard out of Frank’s grip. “No one else is willing to stand up to that man! Well I’m not afraid of him!”

“You should be!” Frank all but screamed in her face, and Jamia couldn’t tell if he was crying or if it was just raindrops running down his cheeks. 

“We need to get inside.” Gerard stepped between them, water dripping off the edge of his hood. “This storm will be a bad one. Jamia, come back with us.”

“I don’t think so.” Jamia took several steps back, as if tempted to turn and run. “I need to go back to the castle and make sure those children are safe.”

“Jamia-” Frank stepped forward but Jamia held her hand up to him. 

“Don’t!” She snarled. “The Frank I knew would never hide away like a coward.” Her eyes were steely as she glared at him. “I can’t believe you were content to just _stand_ there and do nothing.” 

“I wasn’t.” Frank insisted, his scowl deepening. “Jamia you can’t go back to the castle, it’s not safe.”

“If it’s safe enough for the Queen, then it’s safe enough for me.” Jamia pulled her sodden hood back over her head and turned to leave. “If you decide you want to help, then you’ll know where to find me.” 

Jamia strode away from them, but quickly broke into a run as the rain whipped her cloak about her. Frank made as if to follow, but once again Gerard stopped him. 

“We need to get home.” He said loudly over the roar of the storm. “We need to make a stronger protection charm for her. The perfume won’t work now she’s drawn Azeroth’s gaze.”

Just hearing Gerard confirm it was enough to make Frank sick to the stomach. He wanted to run after Jamia and drag her back, he’d force her to come with them; he’d use magic if he had to! 

But Gerard’s calm hand on his shoulder soothed him enough to turn away, the two of them breaking into a run of their own. The storm Gerard had conjured was angry and violent, turning the road to the cottage into a quagmire of shin-deep mud. They fought their way through it, their faces red and stinging from the freezing rain. The wind felt as though it could blow their skin right off their bones, and Frank got the awful feeling that this storm was an omen of things to come. 

“I didn’t mean to make it so powerful.” Gerard shouted, as if he could hear Frank’s thoughts. “I fear I may have whipped up a hurricane.”

By the time they made it to the cottage, they were both drenched and panting. Frank’s legs were aching from fighting through the mud, and it took both of their strength to close the cottage door behind them whilst the wind made every attempt to blow it back open.

Gerard crossed his hands over the door once they’d got it shut and muttered an incantation. Immediately the wood stopped rattling and the walls of the cottage seemed to solidify around them. 

“There.” Gerard fell back, panting. “That should do it.” 

“Well.” A soft voice drawled from near the fireplace, familiar enough now to make Frank shiver. “You made a right royal mess of that.”

Michael was leaning against the hearth, one foot crossed over the other, his arms folded over his chest. He was dry, and Frank wondered if he had been in the cottage the whole time they’d been away. 

“Michael.” Gerard threw off his wet cloak, the fabric splatting onto the floor. “I am not in the mood for you today.” He strode towards his brother, leaving a trail of mud in his wake. “What do you want?” He spat. 

Michael quirked an eyebrow at Gerard and then looked over his shoulder at Frank. His lips played around a smile, and his tone was almost bored as he replied, 

“You should be kissing my boots, brother.” He looked at Gerard again, unfolded his arms and cupped Gerard’s chin in a patronising hold. “I’ve come to _help_ you.”


	15. The summoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been sat in my head since the beginning and I'm so happy to have finally written it!! This goes some way to explaining why it's come out so fast, and I must apologise that such speedy updates are not about to become commonplace ;____; Alas, I return to work in just a few days. 
> 
> Content Warning: This chapter contains violence and blood, which you can probably guess means people are going to get hurt. Oh, and an attempt at Gaelic using google translate so don't yell at me if it's pure trash ;____;
> 
> Thank you all as ever for your endless support, it truly means the world <3

“We don’t need your help.” Gerard stormed to the cottage door and grabbed the handle, glaring at Michael. “Leave.” 

“Are you going to kick me out into that storm?” Michael asked sweetly, cocking his head to one side. “How unkind of you, brother.” 

“You’re not welcome here.” Gerard wrenched the door open and immediately the wind sent the bell on the doorframe tingling and ringing like mad. Gerard held Michael’s gaze for a few seconds, whilst rain blustered in around him and stuck his hair to his cheeks, but when Michael just went on leaning against the fireplace, Gerard soon gave in and slammed the door shut again. 

“What help could you give us?” Frank asked quickly, before Gerard could start arguing again. 

“Depends,” Michael’s lips twitched against a smile when Gerard gave Frank an offended look, “on what your plan is.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Gerard reluctantly came away from the door just enough to kick off his muddy boots and leave them beside it. 

Michael watched him with a bored expression. “I mean…” Michael made a rising motion with his palm and a fire blazed hot and bright in the hearth, making Frank jump in surprise. “If you intend to take on Azeroth in a fight, then I will help you. And if you intend to waste time trying to ensnare him in some game of wills, then I shall endeavour to speed up the process for you. Now come and sit by the fire before you catch a chill.” 

Frank didn’t need telling twice. He shed his sodden cloak and muddy boots and all but ran to the fireplace, where he pulled his stool as close to the hearth as he dared and leaned in with his palms held up to feel the heat against them. 

Gerard held back a moment, glaring at Michael with mistrustful eyes. He glanced at Frank and a flash of hurt crossed his face before he could hide it.

“We don’t need your help.” Gerard came forward slowly, reluctantly standing beside Frank and toasting his own hands. He hadn’t realised just how cold he was until he felt the heat of the flames on his skin and his numb fingers tingled as they thawed.

“Because you’re doing such an excellent job on your own?” Michael asked sarcastically, examining his nails as though there was something interesting stuck beneath them. “I was watching you in the square today. What exactly were you trying to achieve?”

Frank looked at Michael and then at Gerard, the fire making his face go red. Gerard’s face was also red, making him look even more furious. 

“You were there.” He whispered, shaking his head in disgust. “I thought as much. So it was _you_ who made those girls act that way.” 

Michael lifted an eyebrow at Gerard. “Me?” He scoffed, as if the idea alone was nonsense. “What makes you say that?” 

Instead of replying, Gerard reached into his tunic and brought out the loop of string he had been using to hold Linda’s tongue. He looked into Michael’s dark eyes and began to twist the string around his fingers, tangling it into a complex criss-cross of threads. He eyed Michael intently the whole time, clearly trying to make some point, but Frank had no idea what it was.

Michael watched Gerard for a moment, expressionless, but then as Gerard pulled the string tight, Michael lifted one hand and brought his fingers into a sudden fist. 

Immediately, the string severed in several places and dangled uselessly from Gerard’s fingers, like marionette strings with no puppet on the end. 

“You were always better than me at this.” Gerard sighed, shaking the piece of string into the fire where they twisted and burned to ash. 

“Doesn’t mean I had anything to do with those girls.” Michael folded his arms again, as calm and casual as before. “I wasn’t even there. I was watching you from here.” Michael nodded to a wide, shallow dish on one of the counters. It was filled with water, reflecting the ceiling beams above it. 

“Really?” Gerard frowned at the dish and then glared at Michael again. “So you have no idea why all of those children suddenly accused each other of witchcraft?”

“I didn’t say that.” Michael laughed, shrugging. “I said it had nothing to do with me.” 

“Who then?” Gerard snapped, starting to grow impatient. 

“Perhaps they were just afraid.” Michael said simply, never taking his eyes off Gerard. “Perhaps they hoped that pointing the finger at someone else would make the hunter forget about them. They were children, after all.”

Frank didn’t say as much, but he silently agreed. He looked at Gerard and gently touched his hand, trying to soothe him. He knew he was angry because of what had happened, and coming home to Michael was making him worse, but Frank _wanted_ to hear what Michael had to say.

Gerard faltered for a moment, his jaw tense from how hard he was clenching his teeth. He seemed to be thinking, and when he spoke again he did so with an air of a man grasping at reasons to fight. 

“So you had nothing to do with it.” He snorted. “That doesn’t change that you keep breaking into my home.” 

Michael laughed softly, shaking his head. “I didn’t _break in_.” He spread his hands out and looked around pointedly. “If you truly wanted to keep me out, you could.” 

Frank looked up at Gerard, wondering if that was true. Gerard looked unsure, blinking at Michael with an annoyed, bemused expression. Michael just went on gazing innocently at him, his dark eyes big and bright. 

“Come now brother,” he said softly, “I’m trying to help you. Are you really so angry at me for leaving all those years ago?”

Gerard opened his mouth to reply, but in the end he had nothing to say. He _was_ angry at Michael, and even a little bit afraid of him, but enough time had passed that he wasn’t even sure why anymore. He was much more powerful these days, and Michael probably didn’t even realise it. He was sure that if it came to it, he could take Michael on if he had to... And deep down, didn’t he just miss his baby brother?

“Do you have any ideas?” He asked after a long, painful silence. The tension in his body made it obvious how unhappy he was about being amicable, and Frank gently squeezed his fingers, trying to pull him down to sit beside him and relax. 

“I do.” Michael didn’t let his pleasure show on his face, knowing how much it would irritate Gerard. “It seems to me that there is a very simple solution to your hunter problem.”

Gerard could already feel bile rising in his throat. “And?” He asked softly, hoping against hope that Michael wasn’t about to say what he thought he was. 

“Kill him.” 

“No.” Gerard’s anger flared up again and he scowled as he took a step back, yanking his hand out of Frank’s grip. “I’ve already told Frank we’re not-” Gerard stopped suddenly, his eyes flicking towards Frank and then back at Michael. The truth settled like a frost in his bones and he exhaled hard, like he’d been punched in the stomach. 

“Is this where you got your idea from?” He whispered, looking to Frank again with betrayal clear in his eyes. “You’d already talked to him?”

Frank was so taken by surprise that he couldn’t even hope to hide his guilt. He sat up taller, turning to Gerard and reaching for him again, but Gerard angled his body out of the way. 

“No I… It wasn’t like that. I just ran into him at the river. It’s not like I-”

“You put that idea in his head?” Gerard scowled at Michael, his fists clenching. “Now it all makes sense. He’d never thought about killing anyone before then.”

Michael looked at Frank and then shrugged, as calm as ever. “I only said that it would fix all your problems, and I stand by it. I didn’t force Frank to see sense.”

“Is that why you were reading that book?” Gerard asked Frank suddenly, his eyes blazing. “Did he put you up to it!?”

“What? No!” Frank got to his feet so he could approach Gerard, but he stopped when Gerard backed frantically away from him. 

“Don’t!” He snarled, holding a hand out like a wall between them. “I’ve been so stupid. I should have known he’d be the cause of this.” Gerard looked at Michael, his anger making his hand shake. “You were always a manipulative little- He almost lost his _hand_.” He snapped, angrily waving his hand towards Michael and sending the dish of water flying at him. 

Michael swiped it out of the air like it was no heavier than a ball of wool, shattering the bowl into fragments so small it fell like dust to the floor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said calmly. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“Stop!” Gerard covered his ears and turned away. Frank could feel waves of upset coming from him, like a toxic energy that made his own heart race. 

“Come back by the fire.” Michael sighed, exasperated. “You’re still drenched. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I don’t think so.” Gerard looked over his shoulder at Frank and Michael, his face pinched. “I think I need some time alone. I’m going to take a bath, and when I’m done, I hope you’re gone.”

“Both of us?” Frank asked quietly, his eyes wide and shimmering with pain. “Gerard-”

“Not you. Him.” Gerard threw a dirty look at Michael. “Or maybe both of you, since you’re such good friends now…”

“That’s not fair.” Frank whispered, clenching his hand around the bandage binding it. “We talked once, for just a few _seconds_. Gee please, he’s here to _help_ us.”

Gerard scoffed and strode away, starting to climb the stairs to the first floor landing. Michael watched him go calmly, but Frank tried to follow. 

“Why don’t you take your bath and then come back and talk?” He called up the stairs, his eyes full of hope. “We need to work together Gerard. Think of those little girls, and _Jamia_.” 

Gerard paused on the top step, his shoulders drawn in. He was silent for a long moment, but then he turned his head slightly and gave one, stiff nod. 

Frank sagged with relief, holding tight to the handrail for support. “Alright.” He whispered. “We’ll wait for you.” 

Frank returned to his seat by the fire whilst Gerard disappeared into his room. He had watched Gerard charm an old copper bowl in his room into a large tub before, which he had filled using a kettle of water that hung in his fireplace. He could make it pour for as long as he wanted, until he had a bath of steaming hot water. Frank hadn’t attempted the spells himself yet, though he had shared the tub with Gerard several times.

He wished he could share it with him now, and kiss the fear away from him.

“He’ll calm down.” Michael said confidently, sitting down on the other stool and stretching his long legs out. “And I stand by what I said. Azeroth needs to be killed.”

Frank leaned closer to the fire, letting it warm him as he gazed into the flames. He agreed with Michael, but he didn’t want to upset Gerard by not considering other options. But the truth was, he didn’t _want_ to think of anything else. What was the point in convoluted charms like that of the blessings box, when Azeroth was out there killing people almost daily?

“I’m afraid.” Frank whispered, keeping his eyes on the flames in the hearth, until he was blinded to anything else. “My friend stood up to him today… He’ll probably hurt her…”

Michael nodded, not even trying to assure Frank otherwise. “From what I understand about Azeroth Heron, he will make an example of your friend for standing up to him.” He summoned over a bottle of wine and poured them both a cup. “Time is against us now, if you wish to protect her.”

Frank felt fear settle like ice in his chest. He accepted the wine but he was shaking so badly he had to hold the cup between both palms. He swallowed a large mouthful, trying to soothe his fraught nerves. 

“She means everything to me.” He whispered, thinking of the girl he used to run through the woods with and feeling a pang of something akin to homesickness. “We’ve been friends our whole lives. I don’t even remember a time when I didn’t love her.”

Michael leaned closer and lay a hand gently on Frank’s knee. Even this close to the fire, Frank noticed that Michael’s hand was cold as ice. 

“Azeroth is currently distracted by the young girls he has taken today.” He said softly, his eyes boring into the side of Frank’s face. “But once he is done with them - and we both know how things will end there - he will turn his sights onto someone else. Your friend is now an easy target.”

Frank didn’t need any convincing, he had already thought as much. He had trusted in Gerard’s perfume to keep both Jamia and the Queen safe, but now it felt like a flimsy dream.

“We need to do something.” He whispered, staring intently at the dancing flames, hypnotised by them. “I will not let anything happen to Jamia.”

“Of course you won’t.” Michael agreed, touching Frank’s cheek with his other hand, gently coaxing his head round so that he would look at him instead of the fire. “You can protect her Frank. You can protect _everyone_.” Michael had lowered his voice, as if sharing a great secret, and Frank instinctively leaned closer. 

“But _how?_ ” He breathed. 

“You need to kill Azeroth.” Michael said firmly. “It’s the only way, Frank.”

“But I don’t know how.” Frank whined, sinking forward as Michael held his face firmly between both his cold hands. “I can’t just walk into the castle and - and -” Frank’s eyelids fluttered, his stomach swirling. He could see the book perfectly in his mind’s eye, and the image in the centre.

“What?” Michael whispered, searching Frank’s gaze. “You’ve got an idea. Tell me.” 

Frank shook his head, his tongue wetting his lips as his mouth went suddenly dry. Gerard would be furious if he even mentioned it but… but did Gerard even have to know? If they got rid of Azeroth, it would be too late for Gerard to stop them, and surely he would be glad to have the hunter gone? 

“Do you… Know about…” Frank screwed up his face, trying to remember the term Gerard had used. “It’s a thing you… you leave your body, and your spirit goes somewhere else?”

“Astral projecting.” Michael nodded. “Gerard won’t like it.” 

“Does… Gerard need to know?” Frank asked quietly. 

A smile curled Michael’s lips, his eyes sparkling. “I suppose not.” He whispered, slowly sliding his fingers away from Frank’s face. “It’s a tricky spell though, and dangerous to do alone. You should be supervised.”

Frank didn’t see that as a problem. “You could supervise me.” He suggested. 

“Hmm…” Michael pretended to think about it, but Frank could already tell that he would agree. And he did. 

“Alright.” Michael gulped down some wine and then settled with his elbows on his knees. “What do you already know about projecting?” 

Frank shook his head, looking down into his cup of wine. It was dark and red like blood. “Nothing really. I saw a picture in that book Gerard mentioned and he told me what it was but… Nothing about how to do it.” 

“What was the book?” Michael asked calmly. “Show it to me.”

Frank turned and beckoned for it, concentrating on the book made of the tan leather and using his fingers to lift it and bring it floating into the room. It drifted into Michael’s hands, and Frank didn’t miss the look of delight that flashed across his face. 

“Amazing… This is the shadow book from an ancient warlock, Neckron.” Michael ran his hands lovingly over the cover. “It is filled with all he learned about dark magic, and bound in his own skin.” He scratched a nail over the tan leather which crinkled at his touch.

“His _skin?_ ” Frank repeated, stomach lurching. “You’re not serious?”

“Of course.” Michael cocked his head at Frank. “The safest way to protect its contents was with strong, personal magic. It doesn’t get much more personal than binding it with your own flesh.” Michael turned the book slowly in his hands. “I’ve searched for this book everywhere, but the trail went cold centuries ago… I never imagined my own brother would have it.” Michael laughed softly, amused by the irony of it all. 

“Why do you want it?” Frank asked quietly, starting to feel uneasy. 

“Oh, no reason really.” Michael shrugged. “All the information it holds has been passed on through time by various witches and warlocks. But it is nice to hold the original… I collect rare books, much like my brother does,” Michael looked around at the stacks of them piled around, “it would be nice to have this in my collection.”

Michael lifted one finger to his mouth and bit into the pad of his fingertip. He showed no sign of pain, not even when blood blossomed between his teeth. Frank instinctively leaned away, feeling sick as he watched Michael run his bleeding finger down the cover of the book.

“You’d already figured out how to open it, hadn’t you?” Michael asked when he noticed Frank’s unease. 

“Y - Yeah, but I…” Frank bit his lip and held up his bandaged hand. “I went a little too far.”

Michael chuckled, unphased. “You think Neckron slashed his hand every time he wanted to add to his book?” He asked, amused. The smear of blood he’d rubbed over the cover had done the trick and the pages softened with the same _thwp_ sound that Frank remembered. 

“Gerard told me you wouldn’t heal after offering the book blood.” He said slowly. “It was only because I used a special knife that-”

“The book is cursed, yes.” Michael shrugged. “But there are counter-curses to such things. I read a good many dark tomes, and I protected myself from them long ago.” 

Frank didn’t quite know what to make of that, so he just watched in silence as Michael opened the book and began to slowly flick through the pages.

“This is amazing.” Michael whispered, looking at the pages with adoration. “Written in the cipher Neckron created… It’s just how I imagined…” 

Frank watched as Michael carefully gazed at each of the pages, working to the centrefold slowly. It was torturous watching him, more engrossed in the book itself now than at the task at hand. 

“Can it help us?” Frank asked impatiently when the waiting became too much. 

Michael looked up at him, annoyed at the interruption, but he quickly smoothed his expression. “Of course it can.” He said simply, turning to the middle pages as Frank had described and laying the book flat on his knee. He looked at the illustration of the woman with the knife, killing another whilst her body floated above her bed. 

“To be able to interact physically with your environment you need a physical body, so this illustration is misleading.” He looked at the page before it and considered a moment before biting into his thumb. He drew more blood and, with Frank watching, swiped it over each unreadable sentence in turn. 

The blood left a dark smudge at first, but as the pages absorbed it, it disappeared like it had never been there, and in its wake were perfectly legible words. 

“Wow.” Frank couldn’t help but lean closer, his eyes wide with wonder. “I never thought to…”

Michael grinned at him. “Like I said, I’ve read a lot of tomes like this.” He rubbed his blood over the next page as well, revealing the words that lay beneath the cipher. 

“These are the instructions for astral projecting.” Michael flipped another couple of pages and smiled. “Aha, and the sigils you’ll need to protect you on your journey.” He turned the book to show Frank the illustration of a complex circle of patterns. It reminded him of the circle Gerard had created in the woods on the night of their first kiss, but he banished the memory away before it could distract him.

“We will need to draw this on the floor around your bed.” Michael explained. “And you’ll need candles. Lots of candles.” He looked around, as if looking for some. “When you project, you need a clear goal in mind. Once you achieve that goal, you will naturally return to your own body, but if something goes wrong or the goal is no longer achievable, the only way back is to blow out the candles.” 

Frank nodded, listening intently now. “Can we do this tonight?” He asked eagerly. 

“I think it would be foolish not to.” Michael nodded. “If Azeroth is as dangerous as we think he is, then he needs to be stopped, and quickly. I daren’t leave him alive much longer.”

Frank completely agreed. 

“Then… We should wait until Gerard has gone to bed.” He said softly, lowering his voice just in case. “And do it then.”

Michael nodded his agreement. “Assuming my brother allows me to stay that long.”

“You could sneak back in.” Frank pointed out, jittery with nervous excitement. “I could open my window for you and-”

_”AAAAGGHH!”_

The sound of Gerard screaming made Frank jump so violently he almost fell off his stool. He turned towards the stairs, already up and starting towards them when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls above him. He hesitated, listening to the unmistakable sound of running as it moved across the ceiling and down the stairs.

“MICHAEL!” Gerard’s feet appeared on the stairs, and as he tore down them, the rest of him came into view too. He was dripping wet and naked but for a linen sheet wrapped around his hips; his face, neck and shoulders all blushing beet red. “WHAT did you DO!?” He roared, stopping halfway down the stairs and leaning over the banister towards them, gripping tightly with both hands. 

Frank stared at him in shock, his eyes drifting up to his damp hair, which was a vibrant shade of ruby red. Frank had never seen hair like it in all his life, the colour completely unnatural. 

“What are you screaming about now?” Michael asked lazily, casually hiding the book behind his back as Gerard glowered at him. “That colour suits you, did you mix up your soap with one of your potions?” He asked sweetly.

“I _know_ it was you.” Gerard snarled, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Change it back _now_.” 

“I don’t know what you’re harping on about.” Michael scoffed. “I have much more important things to worry about than irritating you.” 

“Really?” Gerard laughed without humour. “Then I suppose _this_ has nothing to do with you either!?” He turned with a flourish to reveal a long, ruby red tail curling up from beneath the linen. It was fluffy like a dogs tail, and damp like Gerard’s hair. Frank stared at it with wide eyes and his jaw dropped open in astonishment.

Michael snorted with laughter at the sight. “Very nice.” He sniggered. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”

“Please!” Gerard turned around again and stormed down the stairs. “You’ve always been the same! All you ever did was torment me when we were children. Well, we’re not children anymore.” Gerard walked straight to the door of the cottage and yanked it open, glaring at Michael as the wind and rain blustered in from outside. 

“Get out.” 

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes, casually dropping the book beside the counter where Gerard couldn’t see. “You can’t be serious.” He said smoothly. “I didn’t give you a bloody tail Gerard.”

“I said get out!” Gerard snapped, pointing hard at the open doorway. “You are not welcome here! Now leave!”

Michael looked at Frank, lifting one eyebrow at him as if to say _can you believe this?_ before he rose to his feet. He held Gerard’s gaze for a moment and then sighed, shrugging. “Fine.” He said, picking up his cup and downing the last of his wine before walking to the door. “But you’re making a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.” Gerard glared at Michael as he passed. “Get out.”

“I’m going.” Michael didn’t look at all phased by the storm raging outside. He stepped out of the door and into the rain without a cloak, and then turned to look back into the cottage. “You are strong, Frank.” He said loudly, looking at him with a faint smile. “More powerful than you know. More powerful than my brother here would have you believe… you have all you need. You can continue alone.”

Gerard wrinkled his nose in disgust and slammed the door shut in Michael’s face before Frank could even think to reply. 

“He will not be coming here ever again.” Gerard began frantically casting charms, striding around each of the windows and drawing sigils in the air. “He’s right, I’ve been too lenient. Well… Let’s see him get his way through _this_.” 

“Gee…” Frank watched with a hollow feeling in his chest as Gerard strengthened the protection wards on the cottage. Frank could feel the power coming from them, and deep down he knew that Michael wouldn’t be breaking them. 

“Gerard…” Frank tried again, approaching him carefully. “Relax-”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” Gerard whirled on Frank, his red tail swishing behind him. “You spoke to him and you didn’t tell me.” The accusation was strong in Gerard’s tone. “I can’t even look at you right now.” Some of the fire left his eyes and his shoulders sagged, his eyes filling with pain. 

“Gerard…” Frank’s voice was thick with emotion, his own eyes watering as he watched Gerard walk back to the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to sort this mess.” Gerard scoffed, gesturing at his tail. “Don’t follow me.” 

Frank nodded, a lump swelling in his throat. Gerard stomped back up the stairs away from him, and seconds later Frank heard his bedroom door slam shut.

****

It was impossible to sleep that night.

The storm that Gerard had conjured was loud outside Frank’s window, the wind howling and the rain lashing against the glass like hundreds of needles. Frank had sat up for hours once Michael had been kicked out, hoping that Gerard would come back downstairs but he didn’t show.

In the end, Frank had reluctantly got to his feet and turned to go upstairs, and as he did so his eyes had been drawn to the book that Michael had left on the floor. The pages were still open and the instructions on astral projection still legible. He’d stooped to pick it up, and after a moment of consideration, had carried it upstairs with him.

He’d intended just to hide it in his room, where he could read the instructions over the next few days, but as he lay in bed the book niggled at his brain. He kept worrying about Jamia, and the young girls currently being held in the castle dungeons. He thought about Azeroth, and all the people he had hurt or killed since he’d come to the kingdom, and how desperate he was to stop him.

Michael’s parting words kept running through his mind as well, keeping him awake as surely as the storm did. 

In the end, Frank gave up on trying to sleep and sat up in bed instead, pulling the open book into his lap. He lit the fire in the hearth with his hand, like he’d seen Michael do, and then when that worked out so well, he flicked his fingers at each of the candles in his room and lit those as well.

Michael had said he was more powerful than he knew… Something about hearing him say that made Frank believe it.

Perhaps that was why Frank read the instructions through just once and then decided he had to try them. They were so simple, on paper, and Michael had said he had all he needed to do it alone, hadn’t he? Without anyone watching him, he wouldn’t be able to return to his body unless he fulfilled his goal of killing Azeroth, but that was just fine by him. He didn’t want to come back until the man was dead anyway.

Frank took his time drawing the sigils on the floor in chalk, checking the book again and again to make sure he had them completely correct. Then he gathered every candle he could find in his room and from downstairs, and arranged them along the circles of the sigils until the bed was enclosed within their light.

Frank flicked through the instructions again, checking his handiwork and making sure he knew the incantation to astral project off by heart. He thought briefly of Gerard, sulking in his room, and sighed to himself. He wanted to ask him for his help, but he didn’t dare. This was far too important for him to risk alerting Gerard and having him put a stop to it.

Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Frank lay down in the centre of his bed, facing up towards the ceiling. A tinge of nerves made his pulse quicken, but he refused to hesitate. He closed his eyes and lay his hands flat at his side, taking a deep breath before whispering the incantation from the book.

A rushing sensation made his stomach lurch and his head spin, and he opened his eyes quick, feeling nauseous. He expected to see his ceiling, but instead he saw-

_Rough, stone walls that were at once familiar and completely alien to him. Frank blinked, confused, and felt the sickly sensation intensify for a moment._

_Frank covered his mouth and turned around, looking for somewhere to throw up, and was so utterly distracted that the nausea dissolved away before he could vomit. He lowered his hand slowly, looking around with wide eyes at the rows of heavy wooden doors that seemed to stretch on forever, each one lit by a flaming torch held in a sconce beside it._

_Frank didn’t recognise this place, but he could guess where he was._

_The book had said to think clearly of where he wanted to go, so Frank had thought of the castle. He had been worrying about the girls in the dungeons, convincing himself that they needed him so he didn’t lose his nerve, and now he realised he had astral projected right into the dungeons._

_Frank looked down slowly at his hands, turning them over so he could see his palms. He looked solid enough, and normal. He didn’t feel very different at all. He tried a step, and then another, walking carefully down the stone corridor and finding it to be almost the same as walking anywhere else. Something did feel a little off, but it took him a long time to realise it was because he couldn’t hear his footsteps against the stone at all._

_Frank peered through the bars into the cells beyond, but they all appeared to be empty. He knew that didn’t mean much though, the dungeons in the castle were vast._

_Frank followed the corridor he was in until it’s end, and then took a left. He had no idea where he was going, he only hoped he found his way out quickly. He quickened his step, anxious to get to Azeroth, and turned into a larger chamber where a guard was sitting beside a table, a spear in his hand._

_Frank skidded to a halt, heart racing, just as the guard turned and looked right at him._

_Frank’s hands were in the air before he could think, his mouth open to blurt out whatever excuse came first, but then the guard looked away again, as if he wasn’t even there. Frank stared, confused, and then slowly remembered what Michael had said about having a physical body._

_The guard was clearly bored, drinking wine just to pass the time. He was facing the doors of two cells, and Frank knew without looking that this was where the children had been brought. It seemed extreme to have them guarded as well, but it suited him perfectly._

_Testing his astral form, Frank reached out to try and grab the wine cup from the guards hand. His fingers slipped right through it, as if the cup were made of smoke… or like he was. Frank looked at the table next and leaned his weight against it, but he slipped right through like there was nothing there._

_Suddenly, he knew how to get his physical body, and it couldn’t be more perfect._

_Frank walked behind the guard’s chair and lined himself up directly behind him. He took a deep breath, braced himself and stepped forward._

_When he opened his eyes again, his view had changed, dropping by about two feet. He looked around and then down at his hands - large, calloused hands, with no bandage - and felt his heart leap with excitement._

_It took him a moment to figure out how to get to his feet, the extra weight and bulk feeling unnatural. Whether the guard was fighting back or not he wasn’t sure, but his first few attempts to stand were ungainly and sent him slumping back into his chair._

_When he finally managed to stand, it took him some more figuring out before he could brandish his spear. He walked carefully around the chamber, testing his legs, and patted down his clothes to find that he was also carrying a dagger in his belt._

_He tiptoed up to look into the dungeon cells and found the young girls split between the two of them, huddled together and sleeping with their heads on each other’s shoulders or against the stone walls. Frank hoped that meant that it was late enough for the rest of the castle’s inhabitants to be sleeping too._

_Frank turned, ready to leave and fell short when he came face to face with a hooded figure in the doorway to the chamber. His first thought was Azeroth, but the figure was too short._

_“Give me the keys.” Jamia’s voice was unmistakable, as was the knife she held out towards Frank. It was from the kitchen, one of the large carving knives for joints of meat._

_“Jamia-” Frank blurted out in shock, then stopped when he heard his voice. It was deep and gruff, not his voice at all._

_Jamia startled at the sound of her own name, her hand shaking as she dropped her hood back. She frowned at Frank, trying to recognise him, but he was just one of the hundreds of guards around the castle. She hadn’t expected him to recognise her, and fear made her chest tight. But she was already risking so much, she couldn’t stop just because he knew her._

_“Give me the key and I won’t hurt you.” She said as fiercely as she could, brandishing the knife again. “Now.”_

_Frank looked between Jamia and the cell doors, realisation hitting him like a fist to the face. “You’re going to break them out?” He’d always known Jamia was fierce, but he had never imagined she would do something like this. She would be killed if she was caught._

_“I said, give me the key and-”_

_“This is madness.” Frank grunted, snatching the ring of keys off his belt and tossing them to Jamia without argument. “You shouldn’t be here. You should go back to bed before you get caught.”_

_Jamia stared at the keys which she’d caught from the air without thinking. She looked at the guard with a suspicious glare, knowing that this shouldn’t be so easy._

_“I can’t leave those girls.” She said softly, adjusting her grip on the knife handle. “If you try to stop me -”_

_“Leave your threats.” Frank didn’t have time to argue with Jamia. With Azeroth dead she should be safe anyway, as long as no one spotted her on her way out of the castle. “Can you make it out without being seen?”_

_Jamia looked confused, thrown by the question. “Everyone is asleep.” She said slowly._

_“Then make haste and don’t stop for anyone.” Frank passed Jamia his spear without even needing to think. If anyone tried to stop them, then she had to be able to defend herself and that kitchen knife wasn’t going to do the job. “I will escort you out of the dungeon, but then you’re on your own.”_

_Jamia frowned, looking Frank up and down with a slow look._

_“Why are you helping me?” She asked suspiciously._

_Frank considered, but he couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t the truth. In the end he just shrugged and stepped out of her way. “Do you want to help these girls or not?”_

_Jamia still didn’t look convinced, but with the keys in her hand and the spear to protect her, she couldn’t very well stop. She kept one eye on the guard at all times though as she opened the cell doors and woke the girls. Their surprise at seeing her was not long-lasting, the urgency to get away taking over and making them move fast._

_Frank kept quiet as he followed them, keeping back a few steps so that Jamia didn’t get any ideas with that spear. She glanced over her shoulder at him every few seconds, and seeing such mistrust in her eyes made Frank feel sick. He kept reminding himself that it wasn’t really_ him _she was glaring at, just the guard whose body he was wearing like some awful suit of armour, and kept his mouth shut as she led the way out of the dungeons._

_A flight of stairs led them into the main body of the castle, and Jamia ushered the girls down a corridor that Frank recognised. It would take them to the kitchens and then the gardens beyond, and Frank had to fight to resist the urge to embrace Jamia before she left._

_“Good luck.” He whispered instead, trying to calm the anxiety that made him desperate to go with her. “Be safe.”_

_Jamia frowned at him, shaking her head. “This doesn’t mean I trust you.” She said quietly, backing away down the corridor. “If you raise the alarm, I’ll make sure you die.”_

_Frank smiled faintly, loving to see this side of her, even if it was a bit scary. “I have my own things to attend to.” He said quietly. “Until we meet again, Miss Nestor.”_

_Jamie glared at him a second longer, but then she turned and dashed away. Frank watched her go, his heart racing, but then he turned and made his way deeper into the castle._

_He had wasted enough time, and finding Azeroth once again clouded his thoughts. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that guests were usually roomed in the west side of the castle so he headed there first._

_With the guard’s body, Frank had no fear of being seen. Things had worked out so perfectly he could barely believe it. He strode through the castle at a quick pace, not caring about keeping quiet. Once he reached the west wing he opened doors with no worry for who might be inside. He could easily make up an excuse for his presence if he woke someone other than Azeroth._

_It took him a long time of searching that felt like forever, but finally, tucked away in one of the larger guest rooms, Frank found the witch hunter._

_He’d been hoping to find him asleep, tucked up in bed where he could slit his throat and disappear without a word. But of course, things weren’t so simple._

_Azeroth sat at a writing desk, a feather quill dancing as he scribbled across a piece of parchment. He was surrounded by burning candles, and still dressed in the same black robes as always. His room was scrupulously neat, but full with an assortment of books and objects, candles and incense. It reminded Frank of both a library and a temple, all at once._

_With his back to the door, Azeroth hadn’t noticed Frank enter. He was intent on his writing, oblivious as Frank slipped quietly into the room and closed the door behind him._

_Frank pulled the dagger out of his belt and held it tight in his unfamiliar hand. He swallowed his fear and excitement, and crept as quietly as he could towards Azeroth’s hunched form._

_Frank lifted the knife, blood rushing in his ears. Just one more step, one swift stab and it would all be over. He shuffled closer, lifted the knife just an inch higher, and brought it down fast._

_Azeroth grunted as he caught Frank’s wrist, turning and seizing him so quickly that Frank was thrown off balance. He stumbled and almost fell, and only managed to regain his balance by throwing a hand out to grip the four poster bed frame._

_“Who are you?” Azeroth snarled, getting out of his seat and facing Frank properly. His face was twisted into an angry sneer, that made his pale face look like a skull. The fear it sent through Frank was hot and sudden, making him stumble back another step before he composed himself and steeled his nerves._

_“I am your death.” He whispered, lunging forward again and slashing with the dagger._

_Azeroth swept to the side, dodging Frank’s attempts to slash him with an agility that was unexpected. Frank chased him, slashing and stabbing with all his might, frenzied with the need to see Azeroth dead._

_Azeroth kept his eyes on him, backing away rapidly and dodging every move Frank made. He circled around the bed and moved across the room, his face pulled into an ugly snarl._

_“Who sent you?” He demanded, ducking beneath a wide slash and lunging onto the bed. He skidded across it, turning his back on Frank just long enough to scramble to the other side, and when he turned again he was holding a long, beautifully ornate dagger that he’d had stashed beneath his pillow._

_“No one sent me.” Frank barely looked at the blade, dashing around the bed to reach Azeroth’s side and hack at him again. “I sent me.” He swung his arm out, pushing forward as he did so and caught Azeroth on the cheek with the very tip of his dagger._

_Blood blossomed like a rose, spreading across Azeroth’s cheekbone before dripping down to his jaw. The man looked stunned for a moment, but before Frank could push his advantage, Azeroth was attacking in turn._

_“You fool.” He snarled, lunging at Frank with the same frenzied intensity. “You think you will get out of here alive?” He laughed as he dashed at Frank, the two of them racing around the room, slashing and stabbing as they went, knocking over furniture and books that got in their way._

_“Even if you killed me,” Azeroth panted as he sliced his blade towards Frank’s face, “you would never escape.”_

_“Watch me.” Frank snapped, feeling breathless as he stumbled around the room. He knew that they could go on like this forever, dancing around each other, maybe getting in a cut or two until one of them became so exhausted they let their guard slip._

_Frank had no idea how much stamina this body had, and he didn’t want to risk finding out. Azeroth didn’t seem to be tiring anywhere near as much as he was, and his blade was longer. Frank knew he had to end this quickly, or he’d be the one to fall._

_When Azeroth next brought his dagger round, Frank used his forearm to push Azeroth’s arm away. He thrust his arm to the side with all his might, strong enough to send Azeroth reeling, and then lunged forward with his own knife._

_Frank didn’t realise he was yelling until he came to an abrupt stop, the preceding silence deafening. He had leant all his weight onto the knife handle, and he was almost surprised to discover that it had worked. The blade was completely swallowed by Azeroth’s robes and his body beneath, the dagger plunged right between his ribs, as easy as cutting into butter._

_Frank’s lips parted and he watched in amazement as blood began to seep through the dark fabric and onto his fingers. Dark, crimson blood, that seemed all too human for the man pressed against him._

_“Y - You-” Azeroth’s teeth were clenched in pain, and when he tried to speak, blood bubbled past his lips. He tried to inhale and made an awful, gurgling sound instead._

_Frank blinked, stunned. He couldn’t believe it. It was done, he had killed him._

_Azeroth’s knife sliced through his throat so unexpectedly that Frank didn’t have time to scream. His mouth opened in shock, his breath getting lost somewhere between his chest and the ugly wound in his neck, and the last thing he saw was Azeroth’s bloody smile._

***

Gerard was sitting in the window seat, watching the storm rage outside when Pumpkin slipped into his room. He barely noticed her at first, but then she jumped up into his lap and began turning in circles, kneading his legs with her claws and meowing urgently over and over. 

“Pumpkin?” Gerard frowned at her and tried to soothe her with a hand on her back. “What’s the matter?”

“ _Mrow_.” Pumpkin dug her claws in deeper and looked at Gerard with giant, green eyes. “ _Mroooow_.” Without waiting for Gerard to cotton on, Pumpkin jumped off his lap and back to the floor, dashing a few feet towards the door before looking over her shoulder again.

“What?” Gerard was starting to feel nervous. He slipped out of the window and followed Pumpkin, slowly at first, but then quicker when she went on yowling at him and ran back and forth, a little further ahead each time. 

Gerard was no idiot, he knew she was trying to tell him something. He pulled a baggy undershirt over his head and followed her quickly out of his room and down the hall to Frank’s bedroom. The door stood ajar, and light was glowing from within. Pumpkin raced through the gap and then appeared again, her fur stood up as she all but screamed at Gerard.

Gerard ran the last few steps, tearing into the room to see what the fuss was about. As he entered, he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes going wide as he took in the scene, barely a split second of time passing before every detail had ingrained itself into his brain.

Frank was floating high above his bed, his knees bent and toes pointed, his hands curled up into claws. His eyes were closed and his head was hanging back, his body illuminated by the glow of dozens of candles. 

Gerard barely glanced at the sigils on the floor, recognising them already. 

“Frank.” He gasped, striding into the room with anger and concern boiling up in him in a sickly inferno. “You stupid boy! What have you done?” Gerard had barely got the words out of his mouth before Frank’s lips parted and an almighty cough sent a torrent of blood out from his mouth and down his chin. 

“Frank!” Gerard lurched forward, his eyes going wide as Frank began to convulse, coughing and choking on his own blood. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, his physical body was injured. 

“No! NO! FRANK!” Gerard raced to him, watching in horror as a long, red gash opened up in his throat; his panic made him dull, and he screamed for Frank to come back before he remembered that shouting was useless.

Gerard fell from the bed and seized the nearest candle to him. He barely had breath in his lungs to blow it out, so he simply seized the wick between two fingers, barely feeling the burn of the flame before he extinguished it between his fingertips.

As soon as the flame was out, Frank’s body fell heavily onto the bed. Gerard could hear the wet, rattling sound of his lungs trying to fill with air and he raced to get back to his feet and kneel beside Frank on the mattress.

“Frank! Frank! Oh Gods, Frankie… Frank please.” Gerard’s hands were shaking violently as he closed them around Frank’s neck, trying to stem the flow of blood without strangling him. He muttered every healing spell he knew, his words garbled and cracked by the heavy flow of tears that made his chest squeeze.

“Please, please Frank… Please Frank, stay with me. Stay with me.” He sobbed, his hands slipping through the blood on Frank’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried another spell, his mind already turning over how many more healing spells he knew. In his panic he couldn’t remember any of them; couldn’t summon the power to do anything.

“Help me.” He gasped, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please, help me! Ghairm mi thu, Grant!” 

In the doorway, Pumpkin puffed up into a ball of ginger fur, her ears pricking as if she could hear something. Whilst Gerard sobbed over Frank’s body, Pumpkin tore downstairs to sit at the door, where the bell above was ringing steadily.


	16. Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almighty apologies once again for what I'm sure is truly atrocious Gaelic! 
> 
> We are nearing the end at last my friends, but don't relax just yet, there's plenty still to be unravelled.

The bell above the door was ringing madly, getting more and more intense by the second. The storm outside was raging harder too, sending rain like daggers against the window. 

Upstairs, Gerard was desperately trying to block out the screaming of the wind and focus on his magic. He summoned all his energy, fingers slipping through the blood on Frank’s neck and muttered rapidly to himself. He kept fumbling through the words, mixing one charm with another and forgetting the rhyming couplets. He had never been so useless at casting a spell before, and his increasing panic made him worse with each passing second.

“Please stay, please stay with me Frank.” He sobbed, resorting to begging and pleading. “Please stay…” 

He was so distracted that he barely noticed the ringing bell downstairs, it’s din blending into that of the storm. He didn’t hear the cottage door get blown open by a violent gust of wind, or Pumpkin give a low, soft purr of greeting.

The figure in the doorway paused just long enough to meet the green eyes of the cat, and then a soft, deep voice whispered, “take me to him.”

Pumpkin raced up the stairs, leading the way to Frank’s bedroom without looking back. She darted through the doorway and then jumped into the basket of blankets that Frank had made for her, curling her tail about her body and watching sullenly as their guest entered the room.

“Stand aside Gerard.” The man had a gentle, thickly accented voice. He came behind Gerard and took hold of his shoulders, moving him slowly to the side. “Bi aig fois.” He whispered, and just hearing his voice, feeling his touch - so familiar and so comforting - was enough to make Gerard stop muttering spells and to slip easily out of the way. 

“Please help him.” He whispered, standing back to watch the figure bend over Frank. “I love him.” He sobbed, the words slipping out before he knew he was going to say them. He was so distressed he barely realised what he had just revealed, but the man was too busy to pay attention to him anyway.

Gerard couldn’t see much of what he was doing, his long travelling cloak hiding his hands from view. It was a deep pine green in colour, so dark it was almost black and perfectly dry despite the rain flooding outside. The cloak was trimmed with a golden design of celtic knots, and Gerard’s heart squeezed painfully. 

“Grant.” He whispered, barely daring to believe he was really here. 

Grant didn’t turn to look at him, too busy leaning both palms gently onto Frank’s slashed throat. He whispered in gaelic to him, casting complicated charms that seemed to draw in waves of warmth from nowhere. Gerard could feel the magic flowing around him, like a hot breeze, pulling power from the earth and the sky and everything in between, channeled effortlessly through Grant’s fingers. He was the most powerful warlock that Gerard had ever known, and yet his fear for Frank’s life wouldn’t allow him to believe he could be saved until he heard his first, ragged intake of breath.

“Frank!” Gerard started forward, but Grant held a hand up at him and he fell back with a soft whimper of sorrow. 

“Wait.” Grant said firmly before returning to his spellwork. 

Gerard waited, his heart in his throat, as Grant whispered ancient charms that Gerard didn’t know. His hands moved delicately across Frank’s throat, and as he worked, Frank’s chest heaved with deep, gasping breaths.

“He’s alive.” Gerard tried to dart forward again, but he fell back without needing to be told. Desperate as he was to hold Frank in his arms, he knew that Grant would tell him when he was ready. 

Time seemed to drag, until it felt as though he had been waiting for hours when really it could only have been minutes. The wound on Frank’s neck began to congeal, the blood firming up until it stopped flowing altogether, turning into a thick, black scab.

“He will live.” Grant whispered, moving his hands away and turning aside so Gerard could rush to Frank at last. “But he will not wake up for some time; his body must remain comatose whilst the charms do their work.”

Gerard didn’t care, so long as Frank was going to be okay. He flung himself over his body, peppering his face in tiny kisses and whispering to him; “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, I love you so much… I don’t know what I would have done… Frank…”

Grant allowed him his moment, walking away to light a fire in the hearth and shed his cloak. He hung it neatly beside the fire, and then conjured a washbowl which he filled with water by creating a raining motion with his fingertips. He washed his hands silently, scrubbing away the blood, keeping his back to Gerard to give him some privacy.

When Gerard eventually dragged himself away from Frank’s lifeless form, Grant turned and smiled at him. “Come and wash up.” He said gently, holding his hand out to Gerard.

Gerard stared at his old mentor, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He walked to Grant slowly, as though he was afraid he would fall if he walked too fast, and took hold of his clean hands with his own bloody ones. 

“Y - You came.” He croaked, his voice thick with tears. 

“Of course I came.” Grant gazed into Gerard’s sorrowful eyes and drew him in closer. “I promised I would, if you called.”

Gerard sank against Grant’s chest with a broken sob, clutching his tunic with both filthy hands. Grant didn’t seem to mind at all; he wrapped his arms around Gerard and hugged him tight, his large hands splayed over his back. He smelt of oak and moss, hot steam and fresh, uplifting lavender. It was a scent Gerard knew so well, one of the first scents he had attempted to recreate in a bottle. He had come close to it, he had thought, and used to dot it onto his pillow when he’d first started living alone, when he would dream of Grant and miss him so much it hurt. Being against him now, he realised the perfume he had created was just a shallow imitation to the real thing.

“I’ve missed you.” Gerard’s wail was muffled where he had buried his face into Grant’s chest, his tears soaking his clothes. He was so upset about Frank already, that having Grant here, holding him, just made his emotions even more fraught. 

“I’ve missed you too.” There was the hint of a chuckle in Grant’s voice, like he knew just how hysterical Gerard was feeling right now, but also knew he would be just fine in the end. “Come and wash your hands, sweet one. Then you can greet me properly with wine and salt.”

Gerard sniffed and nodded, managing to focus better now he was reminded of the old ways. He apologised to Grant’s tunic and then turned to the washbowl, washing his hands roughly in the surprisingly warm water. 

Grant stepped close behind him as he scrubbed at his hands, and gently took over. “No need to remove your skin.” He said softly, washing Gerard’s hands for him with a delicate touch. Gerard blushed, his eyes fluttering closed as Grant took care of him, his large hands so familiar and welcome. 

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” He asked quietly, glancing at Frank who was a silent mess in his bed. 

“Do you trust me?” Grant asked. 

“Of course.” Gerard didn’t even hesitate. 

“Then you already know the answer.” Grant took the washbowl to the bed when they were done and sat with it in his lap, looking at Gerard.

Grant had eyes that reminded Gerard of a cloudy sky, and for a moment he was distracted. Grant’s eyes had always swirled, like grey clouds were pulling together around his pupils. When he was angry, they could go black like a storm, and when he was passionate, Gerard had been lucky enough to see firsthand the way they tinged silver, like lightning was shimmering far away. 

Now, they were surprisingly calm. 

“Let’s get him cleaned up first.” Grant looked at Frank and gently brushed his hair off his forehead. “What did you call him? Frank?”

“Yes.” Gerard swallowed thickly and joined Grant on the bed. His hands trembled as he carefully touched the scab across his throat, feeling how firm it was. It was dry and thick, warm to the touch. “He’s my apprentice.” 

“Tell me what happened.” Grant didn’t seem at all surprised that Gerard had taken an apprentice, even though Gerard himself had never dreamt he would do such a thing. 

“He was astral projecting.” Gerard dipped his hands into the bowl of warm water, which was somehow still crystal clear, and discovered a washcloth which had not been there before. He lifted it out and twisted it between his hands, wringing out most of the water before ever so gently washing the blood away from Frank’s neck. 

“Alone?” Grant asked, keeping his eyes on Gerard.

“Yes.” Gerard swallowed thickly, guilt making his face hot. He felt as though this was entirely his fault. “I had no idea he was planning to do it.”

“Did he not know the risks?” Grant asked, his voice calm and not at all accusatory, but Gerard still felt his words like a slap in the face. 

“I don’t know.” He whispered, dabbing the dried blood away from Frank’s skin bit by bit. “I hadn’t taught him anything about astral projecting. We weren’t anywhere near that level of skill.”

“And yet he not only managed to project, but I assume he took on a physical form as well.” Grant glanced at Frank’s wound for just a moment. “He must have been more skilled than you realised.”

“I _knew_ he was powerful.” Gerard snapped, his cheeks darkening a deeper shade of red. “But I was trying to take things slowly. He was picking things up so quickly I was…” Gerard shook his head, not sure how he could explain why it felt so important to wind Frank in every time he made too much progress, too quickly.

“You were afraid.” Grant said simply, as though it was obvious. “He was learning the craft too quickly so you slowed his progress, kept giving him low level tasks.” Grant looked around at the hundreds of smudge sticks that filled baskets and boxes and all spare areas of shelves in the room. “By not watching him, he has gone too far.”

“I already know this is my fault.” Gerard looked at Grant with pain clear in his eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me that.” 

“I wasn’t blaming you Gerard.” Grant’s tone was as gentle and calm as ever. “I know you are not careless.” 

Gerard swallowed hard, hurting and wishing desperately to be soothed. He had no idea what Grant _was_ saying, but it felt like blame to him. “Where have you been?” He demanded suddenly, channeling his pain into something more manageable, something more like anger. “This town has been terrorised for months by the worst witch hunter I’ve ever known, and you weren’t here. _Where were you?_ ”

Grant lifted one eyebrow, but didn’t seem surprised by Gerard’s outburst. “You have always been able to contact me Gerard.” He said gently. 

“But you should have been here!” Gerard insisted, his voice taking on a hysterical pitch. “You should have known that we needed you!”

Grant put the washbowl down and pulled Gerard bodily into his arms. Gerard struggled at first, snarling and snapping like a rabid dog, but Grant simply pulled the washcloth out of his hands and hugged him tight. 

“No!” Gerard snapped, bashing at Grant’s chest with both fists. “No, you don’t get to show up here now and be some hero like - like -” Great, wracking sobs drowned out Gerard’s words and he gave up as quickly as he’d started, slumping against Grant and opening his fists so he could lay his palms flat to Grant’s chest. 

“I’m sorry…” He sobbed, burying his face into Grant’s tunic, trying to hide. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Mo ghaol.” Grant brushed one hand into Gerard’s hair, supporting his head as he hid against him. “You are hurt.” He said quietly, lifting his other hand to cradle the side of Gerard’s jaw. “You are letting your pain speak for you.” 

Gerard shook his head, but hearing Grant call him that - _mo ghaol_ \- repaired something aching inside him. He cried into Grant’s chest until he had no more tears left, cried until his throat was burning and his eyes felt swollen. 

“I’m sorry.” He croaked again once he was more composed. “I’m not angry at you…”

“Sweet one.” Grant pressed a tender kiss to the top of Gerard’s head. “You have always had a sensitive soul. It is one of the many things I have always loved about you.” He smiled warmly as he curled a finger beneath Gerard’s chin and tipped his head up to face him. “Now let’s clean up your boy, and we can let him rest whilst we break bread together.”

_Your boy_ Grant had called him, making Gerard’s heart feel all fluttery. He smiled wobbly at Grant and sniffed, nodding his ascent.

Grant retrieved the washbowl and Gerard went back to cleaning Frank with hands that were much more steady. With each bit of blood he cleaned away, he felt a tiny bit better, able to see clearly now that the bleeding had stopped and that the scab was holding firm. Undoubtedly Frank would have another ugly scar to go with the one on his hand, but it was a small price to pay for his life.

Once he was all cleaned up, Gerard undressed Frank and got him into some fresh night clothes whilst Grant used magic to strip and remake the bed. The sheets were soaked in blood, as were Frank’s clothes. Gerard could rustle up some potion to clean them, but he didn’t have the heart to, so instead he simply banished the lot away.

“Let him rest now.” Grant said once they were done. Gerard stood beside the bed, watching Frank with a dazed look on his face, like he couldn’t quite understand how he’d got there. Grant took him by the hand and gently led him away, whispering soothing words to him when Gerard looked to be on the brink of a breakdown. 

“He will be fine.” He promised him. “You can do no more now, my love. He is safe, your familiar is with him.” 

Gerard blinked and almost laughed. He hadn’t noticed that Pumpkin had slipped out of her basket and was now lying on Frank’s chest, curled up into a fluffy ball of ginger fur. Her green eyes were open and alert, and Gerard knew that she would protect Frank at all costs.

“Thank you.” He whispered to her and Pumpkin gave him a slow blink in response. “I won’t be long.” He swore, leaving the room reluctantly to go downstairs with Grant. 

It was the first time Grant had ever been in Gerard’s cottage, and Gerard was suddenly conscious of how messy the place looked. He desperately tried to tidy as he walked to the fire, sending stacks of books to the living room with a wave of his hand, and clearing up the countertops with hasty flicks of his fingers. 

Grant watched him with an amused smile, not commenting on Gerard’s obvious embarrassment as he untied the laces of his cloak and sent it floating away to hang on a peg beside the door. 

“Don’t feel the need to clean up on my account.” He said kindly, looking around with interest. The cottage felt very much like Gerard’s home, the space just as cluttered and chaotic as Gerard’s room had been when they had lived together. 

Gerard ignored Grant for a moment, but he soon realised he was fighting a losing battle. It would take hours to clean up properly, even with magic on his side, which was why he always used a glamour when he had customers coming. It was pointless putting up a glamour with Grant though, the man would easily see through it and besides, he didn’t seem to mind the mess. 

“I don’t often have time to clean up.” Gerard tried to explain, but it was a blatant lie and they both knew it. He’d never been especially organised, unlike Michael who kept his room pristine. “Let me get us something to eat and drink.” 

Grant smiled fondly as Gerard rushed away to the pantry, clearly flustered. Whilst he was gone, G rant took the time to look around a little more, picking up the various items that were strewn around. He imagined that, despite the clutter, Gerard knew exactly where everything was, and mostly he was just interested to see what sorts of things he must be working on. 

“You work primarily with potions these days, don’t you?” He smiled as Gerard returned with a dusty bottle of red wine and some ingredients to make a soup. 

“I - yes.” Gerard was blushing slightly as Grant looked through his things. “Perfumes, actually.”

Whilst Grant looked around, Gerard busied himself with getting the fire going again and charming a knife to slice vegetables into the cauldron. He wasn’t hungry at all, his stomach was still tied up in knots over Frank, but it was an ancient tradition to share a meal and wine with his guest; it was said that once they had shared salt and wine together, neither the guest nor the host could harm the other whilst under that roof. It was unnecessary to protect himself from Grant, and of course he would never hurt his old mentor, but holding to tradition was something Gerard knew Grant felt was important.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Gerard asked curiously as he charmed a wooden spoon to stir the contents of the cauldron as the food began to cook. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come at all.”

Grant turned to face Gerard, putting down the animal bones he had been inspecting. “I promised when you left, all those years ago, that if you summoned me I would come.” 

Gerard blushed, his fingers fluttering to his palm. The wound was healed and no scar had ever marred his skin, but he and Grant had made a blood pact many years ago. A quick slice of a knife and a clasping of hands was all it took to bind them to one another forever. 

“It’s just been so long…” Gerard said slowly, feeling almost ashamed. “I’ve wanted to contact you before but I… I just assumed you must be so busy and-”

Grant held up a hand, stopping him. “I have been busy, mo ghaol. And I see you have been too.” Grant was smiling, but even he couldn’t quite hide the sadness in his eyes. “You made the right decision when you left… my life was one I would gladly have shared with you, always. But it is not your path.” Grant moved closer to Gerard, walking slowly, as if he could hear how rapidly Gerard’s heart was beating and knew that any sudden movement might pack it in altogether.

“In the time we have been apart, I have become a wanderer.” Grant smiled warmly, close enough now to touch Gerard. “I have not returned home since you left. Not because it is empty-” He quickly added when Gerard looked distraught, “-but because each of my travels have led me directly into another… we live in a vast world, mo chridhe. So much to see, so much to learn, so many people to discover and help and be helped by… Even for someone as old as me.” Grant cupped Gerard’s face and smoothed a thumb along his cheekbone. “It is everything I wanted it to be… but you. My sweet, sweet soul… you are a home bird. You put down roots.” 

“I wanted to put down roots with you.” Gerard whispered without thinking, tears in his eyes. The world was everything Grant wanted. _Everything_. It was something Gerard had always known, deep down, but to hear it at last broke his heart more than it had any right to do. After all, _he_ had been the one to leave. He had been the one to say _enough_ and leave Grant crestfallen in his wake. 

Grant touched his thumb delicately to the corner of Gerard’s eye, gathering one of his tears like a jewel. His own pain was clear in his stormy eyes, breathtaking and beautiful and enough to make Gerard want to weep for a thousand years. 

“I know you did, my love.” Grant leaned in close and brushed the faintest of kisses to Gerard’s forehead. “And I wanted that too, the Gods know I wanted that.” Grant sounded torn up, and Gerard remembered all the talks they had had just like this one… where he would beg Grant not to go on another one of his travels which always dragged on far longer than he said they would; and Grant would beg him to come with him. How they would end up bitter and upset with each other, how Gerard would feel abandoned once again… foolish to believe things could ever be different. Laughed at by Michael and left feeling homesick in his own home. 

“I missed you so much I thought I might die.” Gerard whispered, crying quietly as Grant cradled his face. “I thought about summoning you a million times… But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not coming.”

“I would have.” Grant whispered, his voice firm. “I would have, mo ceart-leth. I would never ignore your call.” He bent down to kiss Gerard, gentle but firm against his lips. Gerard fell against him, his knees almost giving way as he surrendered to it; the sensation of Grant’s mouth on his so familiar and so missed.

Grant held Gerard close, kissing him with a closed mouth until he felt like his heart might burst. He wanted to kiss him properly, to lick past his lips and see if he still tasted the same, but he was not his own anymore.

“I love you so much, my sweet soul.” Grant pulled back and slowly kissed each of Gerard’s cheeks in turn. “I always have. I always will.” He brushed another kiss to Gerard’s forehead, lingering there. “But your heart belongs to another now.” 

Gerard opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Did his heart belong to Frank now? He loved him, there was no question about that, but things were still so new and Frank had done so much that Gerard couldn’t justify. 

“I love him.” He said slowly, looking up at Grant and sighing as he got lost in his grey eyes. “But I… I don’t know…” Gerard huffed quietly and shook his head, not wanting to speak ill of Frank. 

“Don’t know what, sweet one?” Grant tucked a lock of Gerard’s hair behind his ear and slowly lowered his hands. He could tell that Gerard loved Frank intensely, and felt no jealousy or bitterness towards him. Grant had been alive for almost two centuries, and he knew that love came and went, and some lasted forever. He had no doubt that Gerard loved him still, just as he now loved Frank, but what he couldn’t quite understand was why Gerard was looking so unsure of himself. 

Gerard nibbled anxiously on his lower lip, trying to think of a way to explain his fears without them sounding like… fears. Grant waited patiently, but when Gerard faltered for too long, he sighed and smiled. 

“Let us drink.” He suggested, waving a hand at the two stools beside the fire and transforming them into large wooden seats with thick cushions to rest on. “There is clearly much to be said.” 

Gerard sat down gratefully and watched as Grant blew the dust off the bottle of wine. He didn’t seem phased by the fact that it had obviously been sat in the pantry for some time, knowing that Gerard had always favoured honey wine. Grant however had always preferred his wines rich and dark.

When he poured, he was glad to see that it was red to the point of almost being black, and he filled them each a cup before sitting opposite Gerard. 

“Welcome.” Gerard held up his cup as tradition dictated. “Be safe at my hearth and in my home.” 

“Blessed be.” Grant touched his own cup to Gerard’s. “Be at peace in my presence.” 

“Blessed be.” Gerard nodded and the two men sipped their wine at once. The meal would traditionally be served immediately, but Grant didn’t seem to mind waiting. The soup was bubbling nicely, stirred gently by the charmed spoon, but it wasn’t quite ready.

“Now,” Grant licked his lips and placed his cup onto the flat arm of his chair. “I feel there is much you need to share with me about your new love. Why don’t you start by telling me how he became your apprentice?”

Gerard swallowed another fortifying mouthful of wine and then put his own cup down. He had almost forgotten that very first visit, where Frank had come to beg for him to apprentice him and had caught Gerard so by surprise that he’d forgotten to remove all traces of visible magic from his sight. He smiled at the memory now, remembering the smug way Frank had grinned at him when he pointed out the spoon that was stirring in his cauldron all by itself.

“He approached me out of the blue.” Gerard said slowly, his eyes taking on a misty, faraway look as he thought about it. “Asked me to apprentice him and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, warm and genuine enough to make Grant smile too. 

“So he’s stubborn.” He chuckled. 

“Oh you have no idea.” Gerard scoffed, getting into his stride easily when Grant looked so happy and his memories came to him so easily. 

He talked freely as the soup cooked, telling Grant all about that first visit and his original challenge for Frank - to read the books he gave him from cover to cover. He told him how he had learned to read in a matter of weeks, and how it was only the arrival of Azeroth Heron who had forced him to return the books early. 

“The witch hunter.” Grant clarified, nodding as Gerard told him about him. 

Talking about Azeroth made Gerard’s skin crawl, but he got through his description of him rapidly so he could move onto talking about Frank again. 

Grant listened quietly as Gerard weaved a tale of the time they had spent together so far. He told him all about the dagger Frank had somehow managed to imbibe with the powers of the moon, and how easily he had been picking up the craft so far. He told him of the witch hunts going on in the town and how much they unsettled both himself and Frank. He told him about the many days he and Frank had spent together, doing little more than enjoying one another’s company, but how that had all changed when Michael had come into the picture. 

“-he suggested to Frank that killing Azeroth was the only way to get rid of him and since then-”

“Wait a moment.” Grant interrupted Gerard with an apologetic look. “Your brother is here?” 

“Mhmm.” Gerard swallowed a gulp of wine to wet his mouth which had gone dry from all the talking. “He showed up a few weeks ago. Said he’d come to see me but it was obvious he was here for Frank.”

“What do you mean?” Grant asked, keeping his face carefully neutral but Gerard could sense some underlying anxiety. He frowned, starting to feel nervous too. 

“He said he could tell that Frank was powerful. He offered to apprentice him instead of me.” Gerard watched Grant carefully. “Do you know something?”

Grant looked surprised by the question, but it didn’t last long. “Has he bothered you again, since that day?” He asked calmly. “How often have you seen him?”

Gerard shrugged, frowning. “Just a couple of times. I think he’s seen Frank once on his own though… maybe more.” Gerard said doubtfully. “Ever since he showed up Frank’s been acting recklessly. He hurt himself just a few days ago by trying to read Neckron’s book of dark spells.” Gerard turned to summon the book to show Grant, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“I know it.” He said softly, holding a hand up to stop Gerard. “A very dark text indeed… I’m surprised you had it.”

Gerard flushed red right to the tips of his ears. “After Michael’s fascination with dark magic, I made it my business to study it too. To know what I might one day be up against.”

Grant didn’t need to ask him what he meant. When Michael had left them, it had been on bad terms. His fascination with the occult had gone too far for Gerard’s taste, and even Grant’s to an extent. It had worried him too that Michael might return one day and try to harm Gerard. 

“Do you think Michael told Frank to read that book?” He asked after a moment. 

Gerard frowned, trying to remember if Frank had mentioned anything about it, but he was sure he hadn’t. “I don’t know… if he did then Frank hasn’t told me.” He said slowly, starting to worry. 

“There is a whole chapter on astral projection in that book.” Grant reminded Gerard quietly. “Is that why Frank went to the astral plane tonight? What do you think he was trying to achieve?”

Gerard blinked, unsure. It was the last thing on his mind when he had seen Frank floating above his bed, blood pouring from his neck. _Why_ hadn’t mattered then. But now… Now Gerard’s mind was whirring. 

“Michael was here tonight.” He said quietly, eyes wide. “He said he wanted to help us be rid of Azeroth Heron. He offered his help to me, said he’d do whatever I wanted but I…” Gerard’s cheeks went pink with shame. “I was angry so I stormed off to calm down. I took a bath and Michael cast a stupid charm on me to… to give me a tail.” Gerard was feeling more and more foolish by the second. “I got angry so I kicked him out and put up stronger wards so he wouldn’t be able to get back in.” 

Grant nodded slowly, his own face unreadable. “And Frank was with him the whole time you were upstairs?” He asked calmly. 

“Yes.” Gerard nodded, feeling sick. “Frank and I… We’ve argued a little bit recently, since Michael’s been around… Frank agrees that killing Azeroth is the best thing to do. I’ve been trying to explain to him that to take a life- especially with magic - comes with a price but I…”

Grant sighed heavily, not needing to hear anymore. “You have always had a gentle heart.” He said quietly. “If this witch hunter is as awful as you say, and I believe he is, then it is not surprising that Frank was seduced by the idea of killing him.”

“Seduced.” Gerard repeated, feeling numb. “By Michael?”

“Your brother has always been a master at manipulation.” Grant whispered, his face going dark as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin, thoughtful. “I dread to think how the years he has been away have altered him… he has undoubtedly honed his skill. He was already on the way to creating signature magic when he was living with us, do you remember?”

Gerard nodded. “Do you think he’s perfected it?” He asked quietly, his spine starting to tingle. 

“Oh I have no doubt.” Grant looked Gerard over with a sad smile. “You’ve perfected yours, after all. I can see it radiating from you… you’re just as powerful as I always knew you would be.” He sounded so proud that Gerard wanted to go to him and kiss him again, but he forced himself to refrain. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling though. 

“My signature magic is perfume.” He groaned. For the first time in his life, he felt almost ashamed of himself for having his signature magic be something so gentle and organic. Whilst he could weave powerful charms into his perfume, it wasn’t like he could take down any real enemy with scents. 

“Michael… He was working on something so much darker. I thought it might be…” Gerard swallowed hard, almost afraid to say the word. “I thought it might be… necromancy.” He whispered as quietly as possible. 

“I thought so too.” Grant didn’t seem anywhere near as afraid, though his brow did furrow. “But now I’m not sure… He was always so attracted to string magic, too.” 

Gerard blinked, confused for a moment. “But that was just silly games.” He tried to protest, thinking of the charms he had shown Frank for capturing the tongues of people using string. He and Michael used to torment one another with string figures, creating complicated tangles of string between their fingers to steal each other’s tongues or trip one another up as they walked about the home they shared with Grant. But then hadn’t he tried to capture Michael’s tongue just that very evening? And Michael had severed the string as easily as brushing away a cobweb. 

“What good is string magic?” Gerard asked quietly, sensing he was missing something. “Compared to necromancy?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t dabble in that too.” Grant shrugged. “But string magic as a signature magic… Tied with his manipulative personality…” Gerard could tell that Grant was thinking of something specific, but he didn’t seem ready to share it yet. Instead, he took a deep breath and asked, “do you think Michael persuaded Frank to astral project tonight?”

Gerard considered for a moment, trying to keep up. His mind was still foggy after the events of the night, and he stuttered and stammered before sighing heavily. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He thought a moment longer and then gasped, his eyes going wide. 

“Wait… Oh Gods, I looked right at it!” Gerard held a hand out towards the staircase and a moment later a book came whizzing down it, flying sharply around the corner of the banister and then into Gerard’s waiting hand. The book had been lying open on the writing desk in Frank’s room, but Gerard had hardly glanced at it, too busy trying to save Frank’s life. 

“It’s Neckron’s.” Gerard stared in horror at the pages which displayed perfectly legible words. “It’s been fed… But Frank… Frank nearly lost his hand last time he… he wouldn’t do this again.” Gerard was starting to sound manic again, horrified and hurt that Frank would go back to such an awful book after Gerard had tried so hard to stop him. 

“Perhaps it wasn’t Frank who fed it.” Grant held out his hand and Gerard dropped the book onto his palm like a hot potato. “If Michael has been manipulating Frank, it would have been easy for him to open this book. And if you kicked him out with no way to return, then Frank would have had no choice but to astral project alone.”

Gerard took this all in in silence, his expression morphing from horror, to sadness, to rage. 

“But why?” He hissed, feeling sick to the stomach as Grant flicked through the book and then snapped it shut. “What would Michael gain by sending Frank off on some suicide mission!?”

“You said that Michael had commented on Frank’s powers?” Grant asked, locking the book closed and putting aside. “He knew that Frank was more powerful than even he himself was aware of?”

Gerard nodded, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Yes, but so what?” He scoffed. “There are plenty of witches and warlocks who demonstrate incredible prowess even from a young age-”

“Then what were you so afraid of?” Grant asked calmly, lifting one eyebrow at Gerard. 

“I-” Gerard faltered, not sure what to say. “I wasn’t afraid. I just felt like… like we should slow things down…” He said doubtfully, not entirely sure why he had felt that way in the first place, but something in Grant’s face told him that he did. 

“You had every right to be afraid Gerard.” He said quietly. “You may not know why, but you could sense it.” He smiled, proud all over again. “And I fear Michael could sense it too… Only he probably knows more than you, I would think.”

Gerard was starting to feel impatient. “Know what? What are you _talking_ about?” He asked desperately. 

Grant sighed, his face apologetic. He paused for a long moment, trying to gather his words, and when Gerard looked just about ready to burst, he spoke. 

“Have you ever heard of the Coven of the Twelve?” He asked gently. 

Gerard frowned, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. It sounded awfully like the religion that the people of the town were so enamoured with, which as far as he was aware, had nothing at all to do with the craft. But he knew that Grant had not misspoke. 

“A coven?” He repeated quietly, not sure he was following. 

“Yes, of the twelve.” Grant repeated, sighing heavily. “They were a powerful coven, based about two kingdom’s leagues away from here. They were an unusual people… they lived in harmony with the humans of their kingdom and protected them. They were a peaceful folk, strong believers in the twelve Gods.”

Gerard shook his head, more and more confused by the moment. “I don’t understand.” 

“Gerard,” Grant leaned forward, laying a hand tenderly over Gerard’s, “I have always taught you that the craft does not come from Gods, and I stand by that. But this coven… they believed that the Gods were made up of the most powerful witches and warlocks the universe had ever known. That when they died, they became great protectors of their respective fields.” Grant shrugged, smiling faintly. “Whether it’s true or not is a matter of faith, but I spent a lot of time with this coven in the past, and they were good, strong people.”

Gerard nodded, but he was still confused. “What does this have to do with Frank?” He asked quietly. 

“I’m getting to it.” Grant sat back, concern etched into his face. “Around twenty five years ago, war broke out across the land. It was a human’s war, so we did not pay it any mind. But one day… I received a message from the Coven of the Twelve, begging me to assist them. So I went…”

“On one of your travels.” Gerard said dully, trying to remember hearing about any war when he had been young, but he realised that Grant had probably never mentioned it to him. 

“Yes.” Grant sighed, watching Gerard carefully as he went on. “When I reached the coven, I was shocked to find the place war-torn and ablaze. The war had come to them, and with it… witch hunts.” Grant’s voice was soft and full of sorrow, his face shadowed. “The coven had twelve leaders, one to represent each of the Gods. They had shut themselves away into one of their temples, using charms to keep the invaders back, but their strength was failing. 

“When I arrived, I assumed they wanted my help to push the armies back, but it was too late. Already, hundreds of covens had made the decision to go into hiding, and this coven was the last standing proud. They knew their time had come. They knew that the invaders would stop at nothing, and no matter how many we killed or drove away, more would always come.” Grant went quiet for a moment, sipping his wine and gazing into the fire with an unseeing stare. 

Gerard waited, holding his breath, and at last asked, “so what did you do?”

Grant came back to himself with a little jolt, his lips pulling into a tense, thin line. “The twelve leaders had been using all of their strength to keep their coven safe for days on end, and knew they had little power left. They requested my help to complete a powerful charm.” 

“What was it?” Gerard asked eagerly, breathless. 

“The leaders knew that everyone in their coven would be slaughtered as witches.” Grant whispered, talking faster now. “Now matter what happened, they were all doomed. It was a tragic waste of life and magical ability. I could not save them all… So we performed a complicated rite that pulled the magic from every member of the coven and transferred into one child.”

Gerard’s eyes went wide, starting to understand now. “No…” He whispered. “How is that possible?”

“At the time I wasn’t sure it was.” Grant confessed. “But it was their only hope to salvage something good… so I helped.” He bowed his head, shaking it slowly. “Once the spell was done, their strength was gone and the temple fell. The invaders slaughtered every man, woman and child in the place. We had never imagined they would take the children too… I was distraught, I didn’t know what to do… I tried to fight back the army alone but eventually I had no choice but to flee.”

Grant lifted his head slowly, meeting Gerard’s wide eyed stare. “But then news reached me,” Grant said quietly, “from the kingdom that had fallen… two children were spared that day. Only two. No one really knows why, but the soldiers took pity on a little boy and a little girl, and brought them to their own kingdom.” Grant smiled a sad, pitying sort of smile. “ _This_ kingdom.” 

Gerard was starting to feel dizzy as pieces of Frank’s past began to fall into place. “He was a prisoner of war.” He said quietly, shaking his head to try and clear it. “Frank and Jamia.”

“I suspected that one of the children must be the child containing the power of their coven.” Grant said softly. “The leaders had called upon one Goddess in particular for aid - Kora, who they called Mother. I believe she was the Goddess of protection, and so I wondered… Had this Goddess truly intervened? Had she protected these children, so that they were saved? _Was_ there a child living in this kingdom with the power of an entire coven within them?” Grant smiled faintly. “I’ve been keeping a close watch.”

“You have?” Gerard blankly, stunned. “How?”

“I have my sources.” Grant said vaguely. “I heard things… but nothing that made me certain that the powers of the coven were being presented. I heard that one of the children had left the castle to be apprenticed elsewhere, but I never suspected that they had become apprenticed by you.” Grant looked almost amused, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Gerard. 

“This is impossible…” Gerard breathed, trying hard to keep up but feeling very much like he was falling behind. “You’re telling me that Frank… Frank has the power of _an entire coven_ trapped inside him?” 

“Not trapped.” Grant frowned, shaking his head. “ _Gifted_ to him. He will become the most powerful warlock this world has ever seen.” 

Gerard almost laughed, thinking of Frank, _his_ Frank who was sweet and silly and playful. “Frank?” He repeated, shaking his head. “Frank is the most powerful warlock this world has ever seen?”

“Not yet.” Grant chuckled. “But he will be. As with all of us, his powers must grow through practice.” Grant was smiling, but he soon fell serious again. “But… If Michael knew the history of this coven, had he heard the myths that came from that fallen kingdom… there’s a chance that he suspects Frank too.”

Gerard felt as though he had been doused in icy water. “So that’s why he manipulated him into projecting… he _wanted_ him to get hurt.”

Grant nodded solemnly. “I can’t know for sure, of course… But I suspect…”

Gerard didn’t suspect a thing. “He’s been trying to kill him.” He snarled, jumping to his feet like he’d been pricked with a hot poker. “All this time… I _knew_ we couldn’t trust him. I knew it! And now he’s almost killed Frank and-”

“Gerard, calm down.” Grant stood too and lay his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, holding him firm. “We can’t be certain of anything until we talk to Frank.” He said firmly. “We need to find out where he projected to and why.”

“I can already guess-”

“Guessing is foolish.” Grant snapped, giving Gerard a gentle shake. “You must trust me mo ghaol. Your wards will keep Michael away, for now. And my magic will soon have Frank awake again.” Grant touched a tender kiss to Gerard’s hands which he clasped in both of his own. “Once he wakes, we can ask him what happened and be certain of the truth.”

Gerard was already certain of the truth, but he reluctantly swallowed his rage. Whether Michael had been manipulating Frank or not, it didn’t change that Azeroth Heron truly was a fierce enemy. Perhaps Michael had been manipulating Frank in the hope he could use him to take out Heron. It wouldn’t make it okay… but if Michael didn’t know the truth about Frank and just thought he was disposable… like a pawn in chess… 

Gerard groaned, his head starting to ache. Through everything, Michael was still his brother. But Frank had been badly hurt, and if Michael was to blame, then Gerard wasn’t sure what he would do. 

“Alright.” He whispered, if only because he couldn’t think clearly anymore. “Alright… we’ll wait for Frank to wake up.” He looked up at Grant, heart racing. “You’ll stay, won’t you?” He asked quietly, terrified by the prospect of Grant leaving him with this mess now. 

Grant smiled, cupping Gerard’s cheek and tilting his head up for a tiny, almost chaste kiss. “I’m here, dear heart. I won’t leave until you want me to.”


	17. Send for the crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to come out guys! Life has been hectic and the energy to write has been low, but we are so close to the end now, I'm hoping to have this story all finished in either the next chapter or the one after. 
> 
> Thank you all as ever for your endless encouragement, without it I'd be even more useless <3
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter includes (another) hanging and that dreaded character death tag finally earns its place.

It took Frank three days to wake up.

For three days, Gerard sat at his bedside, reading quietly to him or whispering his love into his ear. He would pet his fingers through his hair, caress his cheek, tuck him in tight whenever the blankets drifted down. More often than not, he’d end up sleeping with his head on the bed, hunched over in his chair until his back ached. 

For three days, Grant watched over Frank with the quiet surety of a mountain facing a hurricane. Nothing at all seemed to phase him, and no matter how anxious Gerard became, Grant would easily relax him again by assuring him with pure confidence that Frank would wake eventually.

For three days Frank’s wound was bathed by Gerard daily, before he would add a poultice that Grant mixed in a pestle and mortar. It looked like moss and smelt like cloves, and there was something about it that made Gerard think of ancient magic. 

Grant had been a warlock for centuries before Gerard had even been born. He knew that if anyone could save Frank, then it was him. 

And three days later, after what felt like an eternity, his trust was proven right.

“G… Ge-erard?” Frank’s voice was weak and raspy, barely even audible, but Gerard bolted upright at the sound of it. 

“Frank?” He had been asleep in the chair beside his bed again, head hanging forward against his chest; he lifted it so quickly he felt the muscles in the back of his neck twinge in protest, but he paid it no mind. Frank’s eyes were _open_ , they were open and looking at _him_. 

“Frank! Oh thank the Gods, you’re awake!” Gerard jumped from his chair and leaned over Frank, his hands moving rapidly over him as he tried to decide whether to cup his face or take his hand or stroke his fingers into his hair. “I’m so happy you’re awake.” Tears began to build in Gerard’s eyes as relief knocked him senseless, sapping the strength from his legs until he was sinking down onto his knees at Frank’s side. 

Frank blinked slowly, watching him with a half-asleep expression. He reached out weakly at the sound of Gerard’s sobs, his fingers brushing awkwardly across Gerard’s forehead before settling in his hair. He wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he was too weak to speak again. 

“Frank… Oh Frank… I can’t believe… after all that has happened…” Gerard was beside himself, so happy to see Frank awake, to feel his hand in his hair, that he couldn’t compose himself enough to be in any way helpful. 

Frank watched him cry for a long while, using all of his strength just to keep his eyes open. His throat felt hot and raw, each inhale enough to make him ache all over, and his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. 

“Gerard?” A man that Frank didn’t recognise suddenly appeared in the doorway. He looked concerned, but then he noticed Frank’s gaze and he relaxed, smiling warmly. “Ah, he’s awake. Good.” The man strode into the room and gently helped Gerard off the floor and onto the bed where he lay against Frank’s side. 

Frank managed a weak smile, grateful for the new position. He was able to turn slightly towards Gerard, so that he could lay the side of his head against the top of Gerard’s, his hair soft on Frank’s cheek. Gerard sobbed into his shoulder, muttering all sorts of nonsense that Frank wasn’t listening to. 

“Frank,” the stranger pulled his attention to him, leaning close. When Frank looked at him, he was surprised to find eyes like storm clouds gazing back. “My name is Grant, I’m a friend of Gerard’s. I’m here to help you.”

_Grant_. Why did Frank recognise that name? His head was still too cloudy for him to remember. 

“I need you to drink this,” Grant held up a wooden cup filled with a liquid Frank couldn’t see, “it will help your strength return.” 

Grant slid a hand beneath Frank’s head and ever so gently helped to lift him up, just high enough that when he put the cup to his lips, he was able to swallow. Frank noticed that Grant had exceptionally large hands; they made him feel like a child, and were warm and comforting as he cradled him with care.

The liquid that Grant tipped against his lips was also warm, and Frank opened up eagerly for it. His mouth felt as dry as the bottom of an aviary, his throat itching with the need for a drink. He didn’t care what liquid he was swallowing, as long as it was wet, and the first blessed mouthful felt so good that he gulped harder for the next. 

Grant murmured gently at him to slow down, but Frank slurped greedily at the rim of the cup and swallowed convulsively until the entire contents had been poured down his throat. It wasn’t until after that, that he registered the slightly spicy, sweet flavour of the drink and he wondered what sort of concoction he had been fed. 

“I have some water here.” Grant filled the cup from a pitcher beside the bed. “I imagine you must be parched.” Frank opened his lips obediently and closed his eyes in delight as this time, cool, clear water was poured past his lips. Grant held him gently, carefully tilting the cup so that Frank was able to drink without spilling a drop.

“Better?” Grant smiled once the cup was empty and Frank licked his lips, swallowing still to get rid of the itchy, aching feeling in his throat. He nodded, glad to sink back down against the pillows and move one arm slowly beneath Gerard so he could hold him close. 

“I’ll fetch you some soup. You’ll need to eat as well.” Grant told Frank before he brushed a hand tenderly through Gerard’s hair, his eyes full of love as he looked at him. “You stay here with him.” He said softly, as if Gerard wasn’t already tangling himself around Frank like creeping ivy. 

It wasn’t until after Grant had walked away that Frank realised who he was. Gerard’s old mentor, the one he had told Frank about and got all red in the face over. Frank wished he’d paid more attention now.

“Frankie?” Gerard looked up at him then, his eyes red and watering. He had huge shadows beneath them, like he hadn’t slept in days, and Frank felt a tight, squeezing pain around his heart. “I’ve been so worried.” Gerard whispered to him, touching the fingertips of one hand to Frank’s cheek. “You have no idea how scared I’ve been…”

Frank raised his own hand to lay over Gerard’s, lacing their fingers against his cheek. Whatever the potion was that Grant had poured down his throat, it was doing wonders for his strength and he swallowed thickly before attempting to speak. 

“Gee…” His voice still sounded hoarse, and his throat ached fiercely, but he could be heard at least. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing that Frank could think of to say. The memory of what he had done and why he was currently lying in a bed, being nursed by - in Gerard’s words - _the most powerful warlock he knew_ , was all slowly coming back to him. 

“I did… I did something stupid.” Frank nuzzled his cheek against Gerard’s palm, closing his eyes as he savoured the warmth of his skin on his face. 

“Yes you did.” Gerard laughed wetly, so happy to hear Frank’s voice, weak though it was, that he felt giddy. “Why did you do it? Gods Frank, you could have been killed.” 

“I know.” Frank squeezed his eyes shut tighter, not wanting to see any anger or disappointment in Gerard’s gaze. “But I had to. I had to kill him.” A little flutter of excitement ignited in Frank as he remembered how it had felt to plunge that dagger into Azeroth’s flesh and see the flash of horror in his eyes. “But I did it Gee, he’s dead.”

Gerard felt like sobbing all over again. He lifted Frank’s hand to his mouth and kissed each of his knuckles gently, gazing at him with sorrow written all over his face. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Frank the truth… Couldn’t admit to him that Grant had been into town just the day before to pick up some more supplies and had seen Azeroth in the square, preaching his hate from a little podium as though nothing had happened. 

“ _He didn’t look hurt at all.”_ Grant had told him when he’d returned, brow furrowed. Neither he nor Gerard could quite believe that Frank had astral projected to attack the witch hunter and hadn’t even managed to land a single blow. Gerard had begun to wonder if that wasn’t where Frank had gone at all. 

“You mean to tell me that you astral projected _alone_ to kill Azeroth Heron?” He asked carefully, looking into Frank’s face to gauge his reaction. 

“Yes.” Frank rasped, meeting Gerard’s eyes with an apologetic smile. “I know you didn’t want me to, but Gee, he’s _gone_.” Frank had hoped that Gerard would be delighted by the news, despite how clear he had made his feelings on murdering Azeroth. That he was dead could only be a good thing, and Frank had been certain that Gerard would forgive him. 

“Gee?” Now though, he wasn’t so sure. “You forgive me… don’t you?” 

Frank’s soft, wheezing voice tore at Gerard’s heart. He bowed his head over him, resting his forehead on Frank’s chest for a moment until he had the strength to look him in the eyes again. Sooner or later, Frank would have to know the truth, and the longer he kept it from him, the more upset he would be. But Gerard couldn’t risk slowing Frank’s recovery by telling him that Azeroth lived. 

“I love you Frank.” He said instead, and the surprise that filled Frank’s gaze almost made him smile. “Of course I forgive you.” 

Frank’s eyes were wide and shining, but gradually a smile pulled at his lips until it lit up his whole face. He looked at Gerard like he didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t question him. 

“I love you too.” He whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible. He watched Gerard closely, afraid of his reaction, but Gerard just leaned over him and drew him into a tender, soul-searching kiss. 

Frank opened up for him eagerly, lifting a hand delicately to Gerard’s hair so he could hold him to him. Gerard’s lips were warm and gentle, kissing him like he never had before, like he tasted of honey and he wanted to savour every moment. 

Frank kissed him back just as eagerly, though he was too weak to do much more than accept the tender way Gerard searched his mouth. It was enough to make his heart pound, and by the time they finally pulled apart, he was feeling dizzy and exhausted again.

“Love you…” He breathed, smiling like an idiot. “Never thought… I’d fall in love…”

Gerard’s stomach gave a swooping sensation and he just had to kiss Frank again. He pulled back quickly though, sensing that Frank’s strength was waning. 

“Rest now, love.” He urged him softly, brushing a few more lingering kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Even though it was the first time he had been awake for days, Frank was all too glad to succumb to sleep once more. He smiled dreamily at Gerard, his eyelids fluttering, and soon enough he was slumping back against his pillows.

***

It took another day and a half, broken up with bi-hourly potions from Grant before Frank had strength enough to sit up in bed and talk properly. 

Gerard washed away the poultice from Frank’s throat, and Grant carefully inspected the wound, all whilst Frank snatched mouthfuls of a hearty stew whenever they would leave him a long enough second to do so. The constant attention and care had been nice when he was drowsy and in and out of sleep, but now that he was feeling much better, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“You nearly died Frank.” Gerard reminded him when Frank pulled a face at the sage smudge stick Gerard was lighting. “I need to cleanse away the negative energy of the past few days or it will impede your recovery.”

“But I feel fine.” Frank tried to insist around a mouthful of stew. 

“That’s because of Grant.” Gerard said simply, as if it should be obvious. Grant himself only smiled, meeting Frank’s gaze when he looked at him.

“The potions I’ve been giving you should have restored most of your strength by now.” He shrugged. “But don’t let them fool you… You need to keep taking care of yourself and rest to fully recover.”

“I am.” Frank pouted, shovelling in another mouthful of his stew. “It’s not like I’ve got up and started dancing on the table.” To even get out of bed would be a fine thing, but Gerard and Grant insisted on him resting more. They at least allowed him to get up to toilet now, and Frank simply didn’t want to know what they’d had to do to keep him clean and dry whilst he’d been unconscious.

“I know you’re frustrated.” Grant said, smiling gently at Frank. “I can feel your energy. But now you’re feeling better, we can talk.”

Frank ate some more in silence, watching Grant carefully. He could see why Gerard had got all flustered when he talked about him; the man was undeniably handsome, but more than that, he radiated a certain… charm. It was heady and powerful, and something deep and instinctual in Frank recognised ancient magic. He could tell without needing to ask that Grant’s magic came from the Earth. He reminded Frank of the woods, or of the river, or mountains he’d only ever seen in the distance. He made Frank feel both afraid and impressed all at once. His every touch, every smile was addictive… When it occurred to Frank that Gerard had probably laid with this man when he was apprenticed by him, the back of his neck got hot.

“Are you ready to tell us what happened?” Grant asked gently, taking Frank’s silence to be hesitation. 

“What’s there to tell?” Frank scraped up every last morsel of meat and vegetables out of his bowl and sucked his spoon clean. “I astral projected to the castle and I killed Azeroth.”

“I doubt it’s as simple as that.” Grant looked almost amused and Frank couldn’t stop the blush that coated his cheeks. “Won’t you tell us a little more detail?”

Frank looked between the two men, his cheeks pink. He didn’t want Gerard to think bad of him for what he had done, and though Gerard was walking around with his eyes on the smudge stick smoking in his hand, it was obvious that he was listening intently. 

“Why don’t you begin by explaining how you knew how to astral project in the first place?” Grant asked calmly, sitting down beside Frank’s bed and smiling at him with his storm-cloud eyes. He made Frank feel on edge and sort of tingly inside, like he wanted to hide from him and go into his arms all at once. He wondered if this was how sailors felt when facing Sirens, and wasn’t quite sure yet whether he was afraid of Grant or not.

“I had a book.” He whispered before he’d really decided to answer at all. “The one… The one you told me not to look at ever again.” Frank gave Gerard a sheepish look, his cheeks a bright red now. He expected Gerard to get angry, but he just went on moving the smudge stick in sweeping motions through the air and didn’t respond to Frank’s words. 

At first Frank was confused, but then he realised; “You already knew, didn't you?”

“We found the book.” Gerard sounded as guilty as Frank felt. “I guessed Michael opened it for you.” 

Frank couldn’t quite explain the awful feeling that gripped him then. He had let Gerard down. He had disobeyed him and done everything he didn’t want him to do - and he’d _known_ that he was doing it - but somehow, seeing the silent way Gerard held that knowledge inside of himself, without shouting or getting angry or even showing his disappointment, was much worse than Frank could have imagined.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, gazing at Gerard and aching for him to look at him. “I was just so desperate to do something… to end all of the witch hunts, I… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Gerard went tense, and Frank could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. 

“So you trusted Michael, and you followed his guidance?” Grant pushed gently. “Is that right? Did Michael suggest to you that you astral project alone?”

Frank swallowed hard, watching Gerard with a lump in his throat. He wanted to go to him and make him look at him; to take his face in his hands and try to make him _see_. But in the end, he only watched him as he said, 

“I wasn’t meant to be alone. Michael was going to help me.” He forced his eyes back to Grant and immediately regretted it. Grant had a hypnotic way of making him tell the truth. “After Gerard cast the charms to keep him out, I knew I had to do it alone or I’d miss my chance.” 

“Astral projection is a powerful spell.” Grant looked as calm as ever. “It’s really incredible that you managed to not only do it on your first try, but to succeed in taking on a physical form as well.” 

Instinctively, Frank’s fingers went to his throat, which was healing well but would forever be scarred by the blade that had sliced it. The scab sealing the wound was neat and thin, rough against his fingertips. 

“Whose body did you take?” Grant asked when Frank remained silent. “One of the servants?”

“Hm? No.” Frank shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He hadn’t really thought about that night at all in any great detail, and reliving it in his mind was uncomfortable. “I took the body of a guardsman, he was watching the girls who’d been taken to the dungeons.” Frank hesitated before adding, “he was just… there.”

“A convenient source.” Grant agreed. “Presumably one with weapons.” 

“So you let the girls go free?” Gerard was finally looking at Frank, his eyes wide. “I heard they’d all escaped but I didn’t realise-”

“They got home?” Frank felt a burst of relief so powerful that it made his head swim. “That’s such good news. I was so worried…” Frank sank back against his pillows, smiling stupidly to himself. He felt love for Jamia so fiercely that it made his chest feel warm. “I can’t take the credit though. Jamia appeared in the dungeon just after I’d taken the guard’s body, she took me completely by surprise. It’s so like her though, to be so determined to save those girls even though it could have cost her her own life-”

“Wait.” Gerard stopped Frank abruptly, his smudge stick tumbling from his fingers and onto the floor boards. “Jamia rescued those children?”

“Yes.” Frank looked nervously at the smudge stick, but it just smoked harmlessly on the floor. “She showed up all prepared to sneak them out, and ran into me. Only she didn’t know it was me, of course. So I helped her get the girls out and then when I went to seek Azeroth she took them out of the castle.”

“Fuck.” Grant muttered under his breath.

“What?” Frank asked, blood running cold. “What’s happened?”

Grant turned and looked at Gerard, arching one eyebrow at him. Gerard looked like a deer that had just been struck by an arrow, his eyes wide and his face pale. He looked pleadingly at Grant for a moment, but soon enough he had to admit defeat and meet Frank’s worried eyes. 

“Frank…” He said slowly, swallowing hard when bile rose in his throat, “there’s something I haven’t told you.” 

The icy feeling in Frank’s veins grew worse. “I don’t like the sound of this.” He whispered. 

Gerard stooped to pick up the smudge stick, his hands shaking. He kept quiet as he lay it gently into a nautilus shell on the mantelpiece, buying himself time to find the right words. But in the end, all the time in the world couldn’t help him, and he ended up blurting out the truth bluntly, like a fist to the face.

“Azeroth is alive.”

“What?” Frank’s eyes went wide, but his face was otherwise expressionless. A numb sort of feeling took over him, and even though he knew that Gerard was telling the truth, he found himself disbelieving anyway. 

“That’s not possible.”

“But it’s true Frank.” Gerard sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Grant saw him in town just yesterday. He’s been preaching in the square, talking about how whoever freed those girls is going to pay… I assumed he meant you but now I…” Gerard trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Is there any possible way that Azeroth would know that Jamia was the one who freed those girls?” Grant asked calmly, leaning closer to Frank. “The girls themselves have all disappeared with their families and are safe.”

The way Grant said _disappeared_ sent a little warm tingle down Frank’s spine. He got the feeling that those girls hadn’t simply ran away, but had probably been aided by someone… someone who was powerful enough to have all of those families get out of town unseen, and leave no trace behind. 

“You know they’re safe?” Frank asked quietly. 

“Yes.” Grant’s eyes twinkled at him. “I know it for a fact.”

Frank’s heart skipped and he smiled. “Thank you.” He whispered. 

“But what of Jamia?” Gerard pushed, coming to the bed and sitting on the edge, angling his body towards Frank. “Does Azeroth know she was the one to help those girls?”

Frank frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.” He said quickly, though Gerard’s worry made his own heart race. “He’d have thought it was the guard, wouldn’t he? And the guard was me so…” Frank flinched as he thought back to the knife that had nearly taken his life. “What happened to the guard?”

Grant’s eyes softened and he shared a sad glance with Gerard. “He would have died.” He said gently, touching Frank’s hand when he looked at him in surprise. “That wound of yours should have killed you almost instantly, and would have done if your soul hadn’t been protected… by sharing that man’s body, you bought yourself enough time to come back to your own physical form, where Gerard, and then myself, were able to keep you alive.”

“But the guard?” Frank asked quietly, so quietly it was barely a whisper. 

“He would have had no such protection.” Grant said apologetically, squeezing Frank’s fingers. “Astral projection is not inherently dark magic, but it is ambiguous enough that a price is often paid.”

Frank pulled his hand away from Grant’s, feeling sick to the stomach. He hadn’t meant to have anyone die, and that guard was just doing his job. He had been _convenient_ Grant said, and now he was dead. 

“Frank…” Gerard pulled Frank out of his misery with a gentle squeeze of his thigh. “You were so sure that you killed Azeroth, but he doesn’t even appear to be hurt. Are you sure that you-”

“Yes.” Frank spoke over him with a scowl, his sadness starting to morph into anger. “I _stabbed_ him, right here-” Frank touched his sternum just below his ribs, “-and I _saw_ him cough up blood. He should be dead!”

“You’re sure it was a killing blow?” Gerard asked as gently as he could. 

“I’m not an idiot!” Frank snarled, yanking his body to the side to get both Gerard and Grant away from him. “I know how to kill a man, and I _know_ I killed him!”

Grant watched Frank carefully, considering him like a scholar might consider a piece of art. He hummed quietly to himself, running his fingers along his chin. 

“Then we are left with a few explanations.” He said eventually, voice calm as ever. “Either Azeroth really did die, and has been brought back to life. Or, he is dead still and someone else is masquerading as him. Or, he never died at all.”

Frank scoffed at that, and Gerard blushed as he realised he already believed he knew the answer. 

“Azeroth is no witch.” He said quietly, glancing at Frank almost fearfully. “And I doubt he has witch friends, after all he has done. So how could the first two options be possible?”

Frank glared at Gerard, his fists clenching over his knees. “So you think I’m lying?” He asked stiffly. “You think I didn’t kill him at all.”

Gerard looked devastated, but he couldn’t lie to Frank. “Maybe you just _think_ you did Frank… I’m sure it happened so fast, and passions were running so high, it’s easy to get confused or-”

“I AM NOT CONFUSED!” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs, his wounded throat clenching uncomfortably from the force. He coughed and spluttered into his hand afterwards, his chest wheezing when he tried to inhale. 

“Enough.” Grant said firmly, getting to his feet. “There is no point in arguing. We shall simply go to the palace and seek the truth ourselves.” Grant looked at Gerard and beckoned for him to follow with a tilt of his head. 

“The palace?” Gerard looked blank as he slowly got to his own feet. “We can’t just go marching in there… can we?”

“Of course we can.” Grant looked surprised that he would even ask. “We are warlocks, are we not? Trust in me, mo ghaol.”

Gerard nodded, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. Frank looked between the two men, his eyes narrowing. “And what am I to do?” He asked hoarsely, anger making his jaw tense. “Sit here and rest?”

“Yes.” Grant ignored the sarcastic lilt to Frank’s tone. “We shouldn’t be gone long. We will check on your friend Jamia whilst we are there as well. The Gods know, if Azeroth suspects her involvement, he will come down on her hard.”

Just the thought of Jamia being hurt was enough to make Frank bite his tongue. As much as it enraged him to be stuck in bed, utterly useless, he wasn’t about to argue about it and waste more time. Grant was clearly much more powerful than him or even Gerard, but he didn’t have the same qualms about purity that Gerard did. Loathe as he was to admit it, Frank could think of no one better to go and check on Jamia.

“You’ll be alright on your own for a while, won’t you?” Gerard asked anxiously, and Frank knew deep down that if he said no, then Gerard would stay. 

“I’ll be fine.” He sighed, sinking back against the headboard of his bed with a long sigh. “You go.” 

Gerard came back to Frank first, cupping his cheek in one hand so he could steer him into a tender kiss. “I love you.” He whispered against Frank’s lips, like a love spell that soothed the rage in Frank and settled him. 

“I love you too.” He whispered back, meaning it with every fibre of his being. “Hurry back to me.” 

“Always.” Gerard kissed Frank again, over and over, tender pecks that ached to become more. He could have happily lost himself against his lips, and would have done, if matters were not so urgent. He had loved Grant once, and still did, a sort of love that pinched at his soul. But the way he felt for Frank was like the softest silk, weaving through his insides like a soothing balm.

“Go already.” Frank laughed weakly against Gerard’s lips, his pulse racing now from joy. “I’ll only sleep whilst you're gone.” He promised. 

Knowing that Gerard was reluctant to leave pleased him, and Frank smiled warmly when Gerard eventually stopped kissing him and at last joined Grant in the doorway. 

“We’ll be as fast as we can.” Gerard assured him, summoning his travelling cloak from his room. “Sleep well, my love.” 

Frank smiled and settled down deep under the covers. “I will.” He replied, keeping his eyes open long enough to watch the two men disappear downstairs. He wished he could go with them, but now that he’d promised to sleep, he found himself surprisingly exhausted. Perhaps he did need to rest after all, and with nothing better to do, he gladly succumbed to sleep.

***

Frank woke with a start, his heart racing so fast he feared he might die.

His room was much darker than before, and for a moment he feared he had slept right through to nightfall, but when he turned to look out of the window he realised that the sun had been swallowed by thick, black storm clouds. 

An uneasy feeling made Frank shudder and he sat up only to then bend over his knees, scrubbing his face with his hands. He’d been having the most awful dream, but he couldn’t remember it now… There was just the sickly feeling left over that he couldn’t shake, and an ominous feeling in his gut that something terrible was about to happen.

Wind howled outside and rattled the windows, and Frank shivered uncontrollably. He pulled his covers around him as he slid out of bed, huddling in them to keep warm as he shuffled to the window and looked outside. 

_Faces_ he suddenly remembered, like a slap to the face, faces peering out of windows and doors, watching silently as she walked past their homes. Hundreds of eyes all watching her walk, barefoot, through the mud. The rich silks of her gown getting ruined in the dirt as spears prodded her in the back, forcing her to keep walking.

Frank turned away from the window with a gasp, his blankets slipping out of his hands and to the floor.

_Blue silk_ he remembered, _blue silk skirts and kicking feet above the ground_.

Frank had such a strong sense of deja-vu that it sent him reeling. He had seen this vision before, though he was so panicked he couldn’t remember when or where. He only knew that his dream was not just a dream, and that if he didn’t act right now, then something terrible was going to happen.

Frank had been sleeping in nothing but a pair of braies for days. He summoned some clothes to him with barely a thought, and dressed in a hurry. He pulled his tunic over his head as he raced downstairs, and didn’t even think to get a cloak as he slammed his feet into his boots and then tore outside into the rain.

It wasn’t as wild outside as it had been when Gerard had conjured the storm last week; this time the wind and the rain felt natural and almost pitiful in comparison, though the wind whipped Frank’s hair about his face and the rain soaked him to the bone before he’d even got down the garden path.

_Uphill… She had walked uphill, away from the town and the watching eyes; away from everyone she knew and loved. She had gone to a place that was empty and lifeless, followed by a crowd who watched like ravenous dogs._

Frank knew the hill, recognised it from the rare days he had free to do as he wished, and he and Jamia would go for walks outside of the town. To run would take him too long, when he could sense he had mere minutes to spare. 

Frank looked around, desperate, but there was nothing to help him. Only Gerard’s beloved garden and then empty fields all the way to town. 

_A traitor deserves a traitors death, and your body shall be left here for the crows to eat._

There was no time, Frank had to act! He whirled in a circle, snarling in frustration, but all around there were only flowers.

_Flowers_.

Grant reminded Frank of the earth and old magic. Grant could part the sea, so Gerard said, or lift whole buildings with a flick of his hand. If such magic was possible, then why couldn’t a flower be all that Frank needed?

Frank had overheard Gerard and Grant whispering one night, as they sat beside his bed. They had been muttering about his skills, about how he was so much more powerful than he knew. Frank hadn’t though twice about it - had almost believed he’d dreamt it - but now he reminded himself of those words and tried to believe it with all his might. He _was_ powerful; powerful enough to learn to read in mere weeks; powerful enough to astral project all alone on his first try. He could move mountains if he had to. He would move them for _her_.

Frank lifted both hands and began to turn in slower circles, making motions with his fingers to pull the flowers from the garden up by their roots. They soared towards him, hundreds of them, hydrangeas and aquilegias; geraniums, delphiniums and lupins; honeysuckle, lavender, roses and peonies. Hollyhocks and campanula, and the vines from the pumpkin patch all swirled together in the air, weaving and stitching together to become something more. 

Long grasses completed the effect, becoming the mane and tail of a warhorse, standing tall and proud in all it’s floral glory. The delicate flowers did nothing to hide the creature's bulging muscles, it’s eyes two bright red rose buds that gave it a fierce look. It’s hooves were made of wood chippings which made a soft noise as it pawed the ground. 

Frank stared up at the horse, his eyes wide, and for a moment he was stunned by his own magic. But then he snapped out of it and grabbed the horse by the neck. The creature bowed low, as if Frank’s own thoughts commanded it, and he slung himself easily up onto it’s back which was as soft and comfortable as laying in a meadow of flowers. 

There were no reigns to hold onto, so Frank tangled his hands about the vines that made up it’s neck and held on tight. Although the horse was made from mere vines and flowers, it felt as solid as any real animal, and when it began to run, the power that came from it was such that it galloped towards the town so fast that Frank had to squeeze his eyes shut against the rain. 

The horse moved almost silently, it’s woodchip hooves barely striking the ground. Frank could feel it panting beneath him, but it made no such sound, and as they streaked through the town square, not a single person came to their window and saw them.

The storm had sent everyone inside, worse here now and getting wilder by the second. Rain lashed at Frank and wind threatened to unseat him as the horse galloped through the town towards the hill in Frank’s dream. 

Frank held on tightly, his body bouncing around as the horse ran. He hunched down low, trying to shield himself from the rain as much as possible, squinting through it so he could see. His skin had gone white from the cold, his clothes clinging to him and making his chest hurt as he panted. He felt as exhausted as if he was the one doing all the running, and by the time they started to tear up the hill, he was wheezing for breath.

The crowds from Frank’s vision were nowhere to be seen; the hill was silent and empty, almost ghostly in the sheeting rain. Frank allowed himself to hope, for just a moment, that the vision had really been just a dream. That the trauma of the past week had caught up to him and was playing tricks on him.

But deep down, he could feel something inside him that told him it was true. Like a sort of energy, a _magic_ that tied him to her; and he knew.

“Come on…” Frank growled, urging the horse to move faster and faster. “ _Come on…_ ”

The beast made it all the way to the top of the hill, it’s muscles working so hard that the vines began to tear and the flowers dropped away, leaving a trail of them as they went. It kept pushing, moving forward, until Frank saw her at last. 

“Jamia!” He gasped, his heart lurching and his stomach going tight in horror. “No! NO!” The scream that left him next was inhuman, loud and grating, full of pain that made the horse explode into a million tiny pieces. 

“NOOOOO!” Frank was already trying to run before his body hit the ground. All around him, flower petals and pieces of grass were buffeted around by the wind and rain, like awful confetti. Frank stumbled in the mud, sending great clods of it flying as he scrambled back to his feet and ran with all his might towards the single oak tree where Jamia’s body was dangling.

“No no no no-” Frank whimpered over and over like the chant of some desperate spell. He slipped and slid through the mud, falling twice more before he finally made it to the tree. It’s great branches sheltered him from the wind and rain, creaking as they held against the storm; and there above his head… Jamia’s body hung, lifeless, swinging like a ragdoll in the wind. 

“No no no no-” Frank was sobbing so hard that his words sounded swollen. He lifted both hands and severed the rope around her neck with a simple spell. “No Jay… No, no, no…” He floated her body down to him, slow and gentle, as if to stop her from being hurt any more. She sank gracefully into his waiting arms, her open eyes and open mouth sending an awful feeling of fear through Frank. 

“Oh Gods… Oh Gods no… Not you… Not you, Jay…” Frank slumped down to his knees and bowed over her, sobbing into her skin which was ice cold and wet from the rain. She had already gone a ghastly blue colour, with purple rings around her eyes and mouth and neck. Frank couldn’t bear to look as he moved one hand and carefully lowered her eyelids. 

“No Jay… No… Not you…” He whimpered over and over, rocking to and fro as he held her tight. He tried to fill her with life, to use his magic which was supposed to be so powerful and fill her with warmth and laughter again. He strived with all his might, trying to push the essence of his own energy into her, but she remained cold and lifeless in his arms.

Frank dared to look at her after a time, his vision blurred by his tears. She was dressed in the blue silk of his vision, her gown heavy with water. She was still wearing the fine jewelry of her station, which made him suspect that the Queen had no idea she was here. Her hair was pulled into a complicated updo, but it had all started to fall free, giving her a slightly dishevelled look that he knew she would hate. 

Frank’s hands shook as he tried to delicately tuck her hair back into it’s style, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs. He felt for sure that he would die here too; he had failed her so terribly, it was all he deserved.

Gerard and Grant found him like that. 

They saw him from a distance first, after they had transported themselves to the hill. Frank was hunched over Jamia’s body, sobbing and rocking, and Gerard’s heart broke as he saw him. He ran to him, as fast as he could through the treacherous mud, and tried not to cry as he called his name. 

“Frank!”

Frank turned slowly to look at him, his eyes raw from crying. When he saw Gerard he felt a burst of relief, and he sobbed as he let Jamia gently down to the ground so that he could run to Gerard and fall into his arms.

“Oh Frank, my love… I’m so sorry.” Gerard caught him without stumbling, despite the way Frank barrelled into his chest. He held him tight, peppering his face and hair in kisses as he allowed just a couple of silent tears to fall. “We realised what must have happened too late… We came straight here… How did you know?”

Frank shook his head, grief-stricken to speak. He hid his face into Gerard’s chest, clinging to him like a lifeline, whilst Grant walked past them to Jamia.

Frank looked up, sniffing and blubbering to turn and see what he was doing. Grant was perfectly calm as ever, and with seemingly no effort at all, he formed a warm bubble of protection around Jamia’s body and lifted her into the air before him. Frank could just about see a cushion of air beneath her, keeping her body stretched out as though she were sleeping, so that her head and limbs didn’t hang limply as they had when Frank held her. 

Rain bounced off the outside of the bubble, unable to soak her anymore, and the wind that tore at all of their clothes was unable to touch her gown. 

“There now,” Gerard whispered gently into Frank’s hair, “we can bring her home with us like this and bury her in the garden. We’ll pick the nicest spot.” 

Frank blinked, distraught. “Bury her?” He croaked, shaking his head in a daze. “We can’t _bury_ her.” 

Gerard looked confused. “But Frank-”

“No!” Frank pushed away from Gerard hard, shaking his head at him. His tears were starting to slow, replaced instead by anger. “You need to bring her back!”

Gerard gawped at Frank, then at Grant, then back at Frank. “Bring her back?” He repeated dumbly, like he didn’t understand. “Frank, that’s not possible-”

“Yes it is!” Frank snarled, whirling around to Grant instead. “I bet you can do it, can’t you?” He snapped, striding as close to Grant as he dared. “Bring her back! She didn’t deserve to die - bring her _back_.” 

Grant sighed heavily, but otherwise gave nothing away in his expression. He gazed at Frank as calmly as ever, and slowly shook his head. “Listen to Gerard, Frank. What you ask is not possible.”

“Yes it is! Why are you lying to me!?” Frank gripped his hair in both hands, whirling in circles as he tried to decide who was likely to cave in first. “I _know_ you can do it! Why won’t you do it!?” He settled on Gerard, striding back to him. “If you truly love me, you will do this for me.”

The pain in Gerard’s eyes was obvious, but Frank took no pleasure in it. Gerard shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, his hands wringing as he looked helplessly at Jamia’s body. He swallowed hard, and for a moment Frank thought he had him, but then he steeled himself and shook his head. 

“What you ask is dark magic Frank.” He said as gently as he could. “It comes with a price too heavy to pay. She won’t be the same, she won’t be Jamia anymore.”

“I don’t care!” Frank all but screamed, his voice going hoarse. “I want her back!”

“Enough!” Grant snapped, his voice loud enough to cut through the rain. He circled around Frank so that he stood right in front of him, though he carefully kept Jamia’s body to the side. “You are behaving like a brat, and no amount of grief can excuse such disrespect towards your mentor.” He said firmly, eyes blazing. “I understand your sorrow, I do, and when we return home I will gladly sit with you and explain in as much detail as you require _why_ we cannot resurrect her. But we shall not fight here on this hilltop.” 

“Fuck you.” Frank spat with as much venom as he could muster. “Who the _fuck_ are you to tell me what to do?” 

Grant laughed hollowly, shaking his head. “Child, you have no idea who I am.”

“I don’t _care_ who you are.” Frank whirled back around to Gerard, his eyes gone mad with grief. “Will you bring her back, or not?” He demanded. 

Time seemed to still as Gerard looked at him, the rain hanging motionless around them. He swallowed hard, wanting desperately to reach out to Frank and hold him again, but he didn’t dare. He shook his head, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered, “no. I will not.” 

Frank felt those words more keenly than he’d felt Azeroth’s blade in his throat. He swallowed the tears that threatened to fall and held himself up high, refusing to look broken as he nodded. 

“Then I shall find someone who will.” He whispered, and somehow, though he couldn’t say how, he knew what he needed to do. 

He lifted his head to the sky, and shouted as loud as he could, “Michael!”

“NO!” Gerard lunged forward to grab him, but it was too late. Frank disappeared like a bubble popping out of sight, and Gerard’s hand seized nothing but rain.


	18. The gift of the twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We come, at last, to the end my friends!
> 
> This final chapter and the epilogue I shall post together, so don't forget to click next once you reach the end here! 
> 
> Let me take this moment to thank you all as ever for your support throughout this story. There have been some trying times, but I'm so glad to have reached the end at last. Your endless support is everything to me and I can't thank you all enough <3

Gerard burst into the cottage in a rush, his hair sticking to his cheeks and his clothes sodden. 

Grant came in behind him, floating Jamia carefully in front of him. 

“We need to find Frank.” Gerard raced to the nearest counter and began clearing it with swipes of his magic. “He’s not safe with Michael. We need to find him.”

“We will mo ghaol.” Grant floated Jamia to the counter, hesitated, and then conjured a blanket to lay across the cold wood before laying her on top of it. He kept the protection bubble around her, keeping her from decomposing for now. 

“Gods, if he gets hurt I won’t ever forgive myself.” Gerard whispered as he paced about the room, looking for inspiration on what to do next and finding nothing. 

“Gerard, you must be calm.” Grant said gently, coming to him once Jamia was settled and taking him in his arms. “Frank is strong, he can protect himself for a time. We _will_ find him.”

“ _How?_ ” Gerard asked desperately, clutching Grant’s biceps in both hands. “I have no idea how to find him.” 

“Luckily for you,” Grant kissed Gerard’s nose with a soft smile, “I do.” He let him go and turned to start gathering supplies and waved one hand at another counter. “Clear that,” he said firmly, “and gather everything we need for a scrying spell. I’ll also need a map of the kingdom and a planchette.”

Gerard jolted into action, relieved to have Grant take over. His head was in turmoil, his emotions making him manic. All he could think about was the way Frank had looked at him as he made his decision to leave; the way his eyes had gone dark and full of pain, like no one had ever betrayed him as badly as Gerard had when he said “no”.

“Mind on the tasks at hand, Gerard.” Grant said softly without turning to face him. “I need your energy clean.”

Gerard blushed but did his best to push his fears away. If anyone could find Michael and Frank, then it was Grant. And Gerard would do anything to protect Frank once he’d found him, he’d even surrender his own life if he had to. 

Gerard glanced at Jamia and had to look away when his eyes stung with tears. She had already surrendered her life, and for what? Just seeing her lying there was enough to make hatred fill Gerard’s heart. 

“We need to find Azeroth as well.” He whispered roughly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We need to kill him. Properly this time.” 

***

Frank felt the earth disappear from beneath his feet, and then just as quickly, it slammed back against him. He stumbled from the impact and fell to one knee, his head swimming as his eyes tried to adjust to the new scenery around him.

He had come to what appeared to be a cave, but a relatively cosy one at that. The walls and floor were all rough stone, but there were torches burning in sconces on the walls and palatial rugs scattered over the floor. An odd assortment of furniture took up space with no real meaning - there were several cluttered tables, four large trunks bolted with a dozen locks each, a long fainting couch and what appeared to be torture devices scattered around.

A fire pit burned in the centre of the room with a cooking pot hanging above it, and all through the air thin, gossamer lines of near invisible energy criss-crossed above Frank’s head. 

“What is this place?” Frank breathed as he straightened up, unsteady on his feet. He turned in a slow circle, taking everything in, and jumped when he spotted Michael watching him from a throne like seat in the shadows. 

“This is my home.” Michael smiled a wide, toothy smile and rose gracefully to his feet. “I wondered how long it would take you to come here. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Frank looked up, distracted by the threads of energy. He tried to follow one and see where it led, but it’s shining light disappeared into the shadows, it’s endpoint unknown. 

“I need your help.” Frank forced himself to look away from the threads and meet Michael’s gaze instead. “My friend Jamia, she’s-” Frank’s voice broke and he choked on the words, unable to get them out. Tears blurred his vision and he looked away quickly, roughly wiping them away with the back of his hand. 

“I know.” Michael said softly, coming towards him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “She’s dead.” 

Frank looked up at Michael again, a soft, wounded noise escaping his lips at that word. He nodded, unable to speak, his lips trembling. 

“A tragedy.” Michael sighed, wrapping his arm around Frank’s shoulders and guiding him slowly to the fainting couch. “Just another… innocent life…” 

“You can bring her back, right?” Frank fell down onto the couch and looked up at Michael with wide, pleading eyes. “Gerard told me you studied that kind of magic.” 

“ _That_ kind of magic?” Michael repeated, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked pale and haggard in the light cast by the torches, his eyes so dark that they were almost demonic. Frank felt a shudder of fear go through him. 

“The magic you’re referring to is known as necromancy.” Michael drifted away from Frank, going to one of the tables to pick up a book that lay there. “It is dark in nature, and complex. Only the most powerful of witches and warlocks ever gain the ability to wake the dead.” 

Frank watched Michael warily, his stomach twisting itself in knots. There was something about Michael that seemed off; or perhaps it was just his grief twisting things in his mind. But Michael looked ghastly, his skin was almost grey and his eyes had a demonic glint in them that made a cold sweat break out on the back of Frank’s neck. 

“Can you do it?” He asked hoarsely, looking blankly at the book that Michael handed him. “Can you wake the dead?” He flipped through it’s pages and grimaced at the illustrations inside. There were depictions of re-animated corpses, half-rotten with empty eye sockets. There were long, complicated instructions and sigils that made Frank’s head hurt just imagining trying to draw their complex lines. 

“Not like this though…” Frank whispered as he turned another page and looked at the drawing of a young woman being brought back to life, her naked body enveloped in flames that sluiced away flesh even as they breathed life into her lungs. “I just want Jamia back, the way she was before…”

“What you ask is impossible.” Michael took the book from Frank and closed it with a snap. “Necromancy can reanimate a corpse, but it cannot return a soul that is gone.” 

Frank stared at Michael with wide, tearful eyes. Hopelessness began to weigh on him like a boulder in the chest, sinking down inside him and leaving agony in its wake. He thought of the last time he had seen Jamia, when she had been so fierce and brave with spear in hand, determined to save those young girls… He thought of their childhood together, all those vague but happy memories of running through the woods and playing; of their first kiss, when she had dressed like a boy and smelled of the stables; of the way she had taught him to read and the way she would smile at him and back him up when he lied to Two Beard…

“No…” Grief clutched Frank like an icy hand, so painful it was unbearable. “No, no, no…” He hunched slowly over his knees, dragged down by his loss, and began to sob. All the time he had talked to Gerard about protecting Jamia, he had never truly believed he could lose her. And for it to have happened so unexpectedly was too much for him to bear.

“I feel for you, Frank.” Michael said softly, coming to stand behind him and lay a hand gently on his shoulder. “Truly I do… I sympathise.”

Frank was too caught up in his grief to care about Michael’s dull, lifeless attempts to comfort him. He suddenly wished that he hadn’t left Gerard after all. He at least would hold him and whisper soothing words into his ear; he would have rocked him and made him something warm to drink and would have done all he could to lessen the pain in Frank’s heart. 

“I need to go.” Frank wiped roughly at his eyes and tried to get his feet. His knees felt weak and they buckled beneath him, helped along by Michael’s hands which suddenly became heavy on his shoulders. 

“Leaving already?” He asked in surprise, pushing Frank down into his seat. “But you’ve only just arrived.” 

Frank’s stomach swirled and he turned to look at Michael, his cheeks damp and swollen. “I want to go back home.” He sniffed, his voice thick with tears. “To be with Gerard and Grant and-”

“Grant?” Michael’s hands suddenly stiffened on Frank’s shoulders, his nails digging into his flesh through his clothes. “ _Grant_ is here?” He breathed. 

Frank blinked up at Michael, his fear steadily increasing as he saw the rage in Michael’s face. It was too late to try and insist he had misspoke, so instead he said nothing and waited. 

“I should have known.” Michael growled, moving away from Frank with a faraway look in his dark eyes. “I couldn’t understand how you could have survived. Gerard is powerful, but emotional. I knew he wouldn’t be able to save you. The magic was too dark for him to know how to counter it. But _Grant_ -”

“Wait.” Frank forced his legs to move and he sprang up from the couch, wobbling slightly on his feet. “What are you saying? How did _you_ know I was hurt?”

Michael whirled around to glare at Frank, laughing mirthlessly. “Don’t be such a child.” He snarled. “How do you think I knew?” Michael turned and strode across the room, shoving things out of his path and sending furniture flying before he reached a pair of beautiful brass scales. 

“I saw the peak in power.” Michael sounded furious with himself as he inspected the scales, which had a length of string in one dish, and a knotted piece of cord in the other. The dish which held the cord was touching the tabletop, as though it were weighed down with something much heavier. 

“When you were injured, the scales started to balance, and then suddenly…” Michael waved a hand at the dish with the cord, his face twisted in disgust. “I thought you had died, and that you must have been somehow sharing the power with that girl.” Michael was getting steadily angrier and angrier. “It’s not unheard of for power to lay dormant like that. I thought the power in you had gone to her, awaking her own ability and that had caused the scales to tip again. Killing her was easy, thanks to you, but the scales _still_ didn’t tip in my favor.” 

Michael suddenly whirled around to snarl at Frank, his eyes blazing. “That’s when I realised you were still alive. I couldn’t believe it, my brother is an idiot, he should not have been able to save you. _Fuck_. I should have _known_ he’d go running back to _daddy_.” 

Frank’s head was reeling, trying to make sense of Michael’s rant. He looked at the scales, confused, and then back at Michael. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing - no, he didn’t _want_ to believe. 

“What are you saying?” He whispered, backing away slowly as Michael stalked towards him. “You… You tried to kill me?” He shook his head, fighting against the pain that threatened to send him back to his knees. “That’s not… not possible… It was Azeroth. Azeroth tried to kill me, and Jamia! _He_ killed Jamia, not you!”

“Azeroth?” Michael laughed loudly, manic in his rage. “Azeroth is a puppet! He’s nothing more than a corn doll!” Michael turned and cast out his hand, catching something small that zoomed towards it. When he turned again, he opened his fingers and the corn doll inside swung down to dangle on thin strings from his fingertips. The string was made of the same energy that was criss-crossed above their heads and Frank began to feel his stomach kick and turn, threatening to empty its contents on the floor. 

“A c - corn doll?” Frank felt dizzy with shock, and yet at the same time, a heavy sort of certainty settled in him. Michael had had them all fooled, and now he was pulling the scales from Frank’s eyes, he realised what an idiot he had been. 

“I knew the child of the twelve was here somewhere.” Michael conjured a mirror with his other hand and turned to Frank. Within it’s reflection he saw Azeroth Heron, sitting at his writing desk, much the same way he had been when Frank had approached him in the guards body. “I just needed to find out who they were… and what better way to hunt down a witch than with a witch hunter.”

Michael laughed cruelly as he began to pull on the puppet strings with his fingers, making the corn doll twirl and dance below his palm. As he did so, Azeroth stood from his desk and began to do the same, his robes billowing around him as he twirled and danced just as Michael made the corn doll do.

“No.” Frank breathed, watching in horror as Azeroth began to lift his knees high in a hearty jig. He didn’t look frightening anymore, though he certainly looked inhuman. It was like Frank could see all the cracks in his facade now, and when he looked at him, he saw nothing but an oversized corn doll.

When he looked at Michael though, he saw the familiar blood-curdling persona that Azeroth had once had, so at home on Michael’s face that Frank couldn’t believe he had never noticed it before.

“You killed Jamia.” He whispered, the realisation making him tremble with rage. “You killed all those women. And the lady in the river - you killed her and then you saved her!?” 

Michael laughed softly, bouncing the corn doll up into his palm and then casting it away again. As he did so, Azeroth sat back down meekly at his writing desk and Michael sent the mirror away with a click of his fingers. 

“I had to get you to trust me.” He said softly, his eyes sparkling. “I knew my brother would be telling you all sorts of awful tales about me. But earning your trust was so _easy_.”

Frank blushed, wanting to argue, but Michael was right. With Gerard refusing so intensely not to solve their problems by killing Azeroth, Michael and his much darker brand of magic had been intensely appealing. And all it had taken was that one little act of kindness… of him saving that woman in the river in a way Gerard would never do, to make Frank trust in him more than he even trusted Gerard. 

“I’ve been such a fool.” Frank turned away slowly, pressing both hands into his hair. The truth was unravelling before him, enough to drive him insane. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Michael purred, moving steadily closer and closer to Frank. “Fooling people is what I do… It’s my signature magic…” Michael pointed casually up towards the ceiling. “I’m a puppet master, you see… Not even my brother saw that one coming.” 

Without thinking, Frank looked up at the web of gossamer threads of energy, just in time to see two sinking down towards him like a hangman’s noose. He gasped and jumped back, but it was too late. The threads wrapped tightly around his neck, grabbing at him like an octopuses tentacles and holding him tight enough to close off his airway. 

Frank made a deep, choking sound and grabbed for the threads around his neck. They looked to be little more than light and air, but they felt as solid as chains and his nails caught on them as he tried to wrench them away from his neck, his feet kicking and sliding across the floor. 

“You have been surprisingly difficult to be rid of, Frank the blacksmith.” Michael spoke softly, low in his throat, leaning his weight onto one hip and raising one hand, twisting his palm slowly with his fingers bunched up like claws. As he did so, the threads tightened around Frank’s throat, digging deep into the barely healed wound. “But finally, it is time for you to meet your end.” 

***

Michael was proving more difficult to find than Grant had first thought. 

Spread over one counter was a large map of the kingdom, the planchette placed directly in it’s centre. Grant had whispered almost every seeking spell he could think of, but the planchette refused to move. 

“Michael would have known we’d try to find him.” He sighed, flicking through one of Gerard’s many spellbooks, looking for any charm that might have skipped his mind. “His power has increased bit by bit every year, he may be stronger than I can contend with.” 

“That’s not possible.” Gerard scoffed, though a flicker of panic lit up in his eyes. “No one is more powerful than you.”

Grant looked at Gerard, his smile sad but kind. “Frank will be.” He told him solemnly. “And in quick enough time as well, assuming Michael doesn’t end him first.” 

Grant went back to his spellbook, flicking through the pages frantically as Gerard stared at him in horror. The thought of Michael killing Frank was too much for him to even consider, and yet it refused to leave his mind. It lingered like a curse over his head, making him sweat and bringing an icy fear that paralysed him. 

“We have to find them.” He whispered, not even able to think of what they would do if they did. “ We can’t let Frank get hurt… I love him, Grant.” 

“I know, Gerard.” Grant put the spellbook down and reached for another. “I’m doing all I can.” 

Gerard could hear the faintest trace of worry in Grant’s voice and knew that he was being honest. That he hadn’t found Michael already was ludicrous, and the longer they remained without a plan, the more hopeless Gerard began to feel. He turned and grabbed the nearest book to him, flicking through it almost blindly. He had no idea what he was looking for, he only knew he had to do _something_.

As they stood there, silent but for the sound of pages turning, they were both too focused on their tasks to notice Pumpkin walking downstairs. Her green eyes were narrowed and she gave a soft _mrow_ , too quiet for either warlock to notice. 

But they did notice the ringing of the bell above the door which started just a moment later. 

Gerard looked round first, his heart skipping a beat. Could it be Frank? Michael? Azeroth? 

“Mrow!” Pumpkin hopped down from the final step and dashed to the door. She began to paw at it, meowing over and over and shooting Gerard sharp glances. 

“Pumpkin?” Gerard lowered his spell book and went to join the ginger cat at the door. It wasn’t her usual way of reacting to a foe, and Gerard dared to hope that Frank had made it home by himself. “What is it?” He opened the door a crack and peered around it, squinting through the rain at the long path back to town. 

“Gerard?” Grant started forward when Gerard remained silent, concern starting to niggle at him, but then Gerard stood aside - too shocked to speak - and two women entered the cottage. 

Grant looked at the first, and then the second, and his cheeks flamed red. He opened his mouth to speak, glanced at Gerard and then quickly snapped his mouth shut again. Gerard was oblivious to Grant’s surprise, too busy staring in shock at the first woman himself. 

“Your majesty.” He breathed, stunned. 

The Queen, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant and wearing a heavy black cloak, looked at him and slowly pushed down the rain sodden hood. Her hair was twisted into a beautiful, complicated braid, but it was the only sign of her station. 

“Isabel, please.” She reminded Gerard, smiling gently at him before her gaze moved around the room. It took her barely a second to notice the body on the counter, and when she did so, her chest visibly dropped in horror. 

“No.” She whispered, striding across the room to Jamia’s body. “No… So it is true.” She clasped Jamia’s hand in both her own and bowed low over the counter, letting go of a scream that was so heartfelt and so full of pain that it made Gerard flinch as if struck. 

“Isabel-” Gerard started forward, but the second woman stopped him. 

“Let her be lad.” She told him firmly, her voice surprisingly strong for a woman of her age. She was short, and hunched over in a way that made her seem smaller still. She too was wearing a thick riding cloak, and when she dropped the hood, Gerard realised that she was blind. 

“Let her grieve in peace.” Blind Mag pressed a withered hand to Gerard’s chest, pushing him back a step. “I tried to warn her, but she di’nt listen to me.” 

Isabel’s crying intensified, though even then it remained somehow soft and graceful. The tears of a Queen. 

“She didn’t know…” Gerard realised, his heart breaking in two for the young woman who had just stumbled upon her lover's body. He remembered the way Jamia and Isabel had looked at each other when he and Frank had joined them for tarts one afternoon, and he ached to ease her pain. 

“I am so sorry your majesty… Isabel.” He whispered, keeping back only because of the hand on his chest. “We only found her a short while ago.”

“She knows.” Blind Mag sniffed and slowly lowered her hand so she could remove her cloak entirely. “The final act is almost played... the puppet’s strings be lost… another lover may soon be dead.” 

Gerard looked at Blind Mag with a mixture of confusion and fear, his nose wrinkled up to one side. For a blind woman she moved with eerie confidence, hanging her cloak on the peg by the door and then turning to Grant as though she could see him. Gerard looked at Grant, wondering if he was as lost as Gerard was, but he only smiled at the old woman and sighed deeply. 

“Is this how it’ll be then?” Mag asked Grant with a scowl. “Two decades I sit on me perch for ye, and ye don’t even give yer wee ma a kiss?”

Grant laughed, a wet, choked sort of sound and he broke out of his stupor to walk to Blind Mag and pull her into his arms. 

“Forgive me mother.” He chuckled, kissing both of her cheeks gently, his eyes sparkling as he pulled back and smiled adoringly at her. “I’m overwhelmed to see you after so long. I’ve missed you.” 

Blind Mag pursed her lips in thought, but then, deciding it would do, she smiled and gave Grant’s cheek a loving tap with her fingers. “Fetch your ma a seat.” She ordered, and Grant raced to do so.

Gerard watched him with his jaw hanging open, hardly able to comprehend what he was hearing. He had never once considered that Grant was actually born of man and woman, that he must have a father and a mother and had been a baby once. Grant’s age was something even Gerard didn’t know, he only knew that it had been extended through magic. He would never have imagined that his mother was still alive. 

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t believe we’ve met.” Gerard _did_ recognise Mag, but he couldn’t quite remember where or when he’d seen her. He offered her his hand, still wide-eyed as he struggled to shake off his stupor. “I’m Gerard Way.”

“I know who ye are.” Blind Mag allowed Gerard to bend and kiss her hand. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye on ye.” 

Gerard looked over at Grant for an explanation, his eyes wide. 

“I asked her to keep an eye on lots of people.” Grant said almost apologetically, taking his mother’s hand and helping her to the seat he had brought over. Mag sat and reached out with both hands to touch the map on the counter top in front of her, brushing her fingertips delicately over it and the planchette that remained motionless in it’s centre. 

“You… did?” Gerard shook his head, dazed. “I saw you at the castle.” He finally realised, remembering how Frank had hurried to usher him past her. “Frank knew you.”

“Aye.” Mag smiled faintly at the mention of Frank’s name. “A good boy that one. He followed my advice, and drew down t’moon.” 

Gerard blinked slowly and then, almost without thinking, he held out a hand and brought the white knife Frank had made for him floating to his palm. He held it reverently between his spread hands, gazing down at the blade which reflected the light of the full moon when tilted just right. 

“You showed him how to imbibe this blade with the power of the full moon?” He whispered, shaking his head in a daze. 

“Nonsense.” Mag scoffed, closing her eyes as she felt over the map. “I sent him t’the Goddess.” 

“I don’t understand.” Gerard frowned, struggling to keep up. “What Goddess? How?”

No one seemed to notice that Isabel’s tears had slowed and that she too was listening intently, gazing over at the three of them with interest. Grant was bustling around, finding food and drink for his mother as he explained. 

“When the children from the Coven of the Twelve were brought to this kingdom, I knew that there was a chance they would be hunted for their power. I considered casting a protection charm over them, but as you know, the strongest of charms require specifics and I didn’t know which of the children had been imbued with the coven’s magic.” Grant poured Blind Mag and Jamia both a cup of wine. 

“Power like that… it lays dormant for a while. Such a young child could not control that much magic, and I didn’t have time to wait for it to reveal itself.” Grant began slicing bread next, helping himself to Gerard’s pantry and floating ingredients over to himself. “But something in me just knew that the children needed to be protected… I knew that you were in this kingdom, and I considered asking you to keep an eye on them,” Grant smiled gently at Gerard, “but you had only just started to come into your own with your perfumes and your new life alone… I feared approaching you back then would bring up too much of our past and burden you when you were just learning to spread your wings.”

Gerard’s chest panged and he blushed, his eyes welling with tears. Conflicting emotions ignited in him; upset that Grant had not trusted in him to take care of the coven’s surviving children, and also relief that he had never crossed their path until Frank was grown. He loved him so intensely, he could not imagine raising him as his own child and becoming a father figure to him. 

“So you had your mother watch them.” He whispered, stunned. “For two decades?”

“S’just a blip in my lifetime boy.” Mag informed him, slurping her wine noisily from her cup. “And good to have a purpose again.” 

“My mother has been alive for centuries.” Grant told Gerard quietly. “She is a powerful witch in her own right, but by then was idling with nothing to focus on. When I asked her if she would come to the kingdom and watch the children, she readily agreed.” 

Isabel, who was listening quietly, gave a little gasp then. The others seemed to have forgotten all about her and she quickly covered her mouth, silencing herself. Many in the castle had asked where exactly Blind Mag had come from, but no one seemed to know. It was like she had always been there, sat on her perch in the castle courtyard, watching the many comings and goings. She had appeared as if by magic… and now Isabel realised, it _was_ magic.

“When you came to collect Frank as your apprentice, my mother alerted me. We knew that the child with the coven’s power had to be either Frank or Jamia, and once you came into the picture, the answer was clear.” Grant smiled proudly at Gerard. “I was so relieved to hear he had been taken under your wing… Mother told me of the witch hunts, but I thought nothing of them. Witch hunts break out all over the world now and then, and they always blow over eventually… It wasn’t until you summoned me here that I knew of the extent of Azeroth’s evil.” 

Gerard summoned a chair in time for his knees to give way and he sank down heavily into it. So many things he hadn’t known… hadn’t _seen_. He could barely believe he had been so blind. 

“All this time…” He whispered, shaking his head slowly. “Your mother has been barely five miles away from me all this time, and I had no idea.” 

“You’re all witches.” Isabel’s soft voice suddenly snapped everyone’s attention to her, her face pink and streaked with tears. “Azeroth has been killing the women of this town for months and the whole time it was _you_...” Isabel turned her dazzling eyes on Gerard, her expression unreadable. “You and… Frank?”

“Jamia too,” Grant quickly cut in, taking a step towards the Queen, “she and Frank are the only surviving members of a coven slaughtered by your father in his war. Frank has been imbued with the magic of the whole coven, but Jamia still has witches' blood in her veins.” Grant glanced at her body and Isabel instinctively followed his gaze. “She was a very special young woman, I’m sure.” 

Isabel’s body crumpled inwards as she began to cry again, sniffing and gasping as she tried to keep herself from outright sobbing. She turned to hold Jamia’s hand in her own once more, her lower lip trembling as she gazed at her. 

“She _was_ special.” She croaked, her shoulders shaking as she cried. “I loved her.” 

“I can see that you did.” Grant said gently. “And she loved you, I have no doubt. And Frank too… We must find him now. He is in grave danger.” 

Isabel turned to look at Grant over her shoulder, trying hard to stem her tears and to focus as he explained. 

“He has been taken by an old apprentice of mine, someone who I am sure intends to do him harm… I know this is all a great shock to you m’lady, but I must practice magic to find him.” Grant was speaking delicately, as if he was afraid too strong a word would be too much for Isabel. He had no idea that right behind him, Blind Mag was already working her magic with little care for who might see. 

“I understand that you will want to be at Jamia’s side as long as you can.” Grant was saying kindly. “I have cast a charm around her that will keep her… uh, protected from the elements… for a little while.” He said as carefully as he could. “You have no reason to be afraid, your majesty, and if it is not too much for you to bear, I must get back to my work.”

Isabel gazed at Grant, unblinking for a moment. Despite everything, her lips began to twitch at the corners and she almost smiled as she nodded over his shoulder. “I am not as delicate as you might think, sir.” She said as strongly as she could. “My friend, your mother, knows that much.” 

Confused, Grant turned to see what she meant and blushed deeply when he realised that Blind Mag had cast her own seeking charm and was moving the planchette across the map without so much as a touch. 

“Ah.” Grant did laugh then, just a little. “I see.” 

Isabel squeezed Jamia’s hand and then turned to kiss her knuckles. Her body was almost warm, she supposed because of the charm Grant had cast, and she looked as though she could be sleeping. Isabel clung to that thought, using it to give her strength so that she could bear to move away from her and approach the map instead. 

“Is this how you will find Frank?” She asked softly, gazing at the planchette which turned this way and that, reminding her of a bloodhound seeking a scent. 

“Yes.” Blind Mag answered for all of them, frowning in concentration as she muttered a charm beneath her breath. 

Isabel thought of all the times Jamia had talked of Frank and smiled sadly to herself. She would give anything to have Jamia back, safe and laughing in her arms; but she was gone. And if all she could do for her now was save her beloved friend, then she would do anything to help. 

“If I can help you at all-” She began, but Gerard shook his head. 

“It is too dangerous.” He told her firmly, watching the planchette intently. “But thank you.” 

“I fear Michael is much more powerful than either of us realise.” Grant spoke quietly as the planchette finally began to move in a clear direction. “Are you ready to face him?”

Gerard snorted, his fists clenching at his sides. “I will kill him if I have to.” He whispered, and he meant it. He would not dither when Frank’s life was at risk. 

“Frank is t’key.” Mag said airily as the planchette came to a stop over the mountains three leagues away. “He has the power of the twelve.” 

A portal, shining and spitting sparks of energy suddenly appeared behind her, but she paid it no attention. Isabel jumped back in surprise, her eyes wide, and Gerard started forward. 

“Wait.” Grant held out a hand to stop Gerard before he could barrel on ahead. “What do you mean mother? What power of the twelve?”

“The twelve Gods.” Mag turned her blind gaze on Grant. “D’ye still not see? The ritual din’t just imbue the boy with the power of the coven. The coven _sacrificed_ themselves so he and’t girl would live.” Mag smiled wide, showing her missing teeth. “Such sacrifice demands payment.” Mag paused for just a moment, building the suspense until Gerard looked ready to burst, and then went on. 

“Yer boy, Frank, was given the most precious gifts of all. He may ask each of t’ twelve Gods one favour.” Mag held up one long, bony finger. “Just one… Twelve gifts in all.”

Gerard looked at Grant for more explanation, to find that Grant was staring at Mag with his mouth hanging open. 

“The gifts of the twelve…” He repeated quietly. “Then he can…”

“Aye.” Mag smiled at Grant. “I weren’t sure at first… so I had him ask Luna for t’ moon… and t’was granted.” 

Gerard looked once more at the blade Frank had made him. He had been astounded when he’d received it, so shocked in fact, that he had deliberately stopped thinking about it. To draw down the power of the moon when there was no full moon in the sky was nigh impossible, and he couldn’t begin to comprehend the implications back then. But now he realised what Mag was saying. 

“So Frank has already asked Luna for her gift.” He spoke quietly, his mind racing over all the possibilities this meant. He wished then that he hadn’t been so flippant when it came to the religion of the twelve. He had only the vaguest knowledge of the other eleven Gods, and even that was only of their effigies that he had seen in the temple whilst casting his charm on the blessings box. 

“Eleven more gifts to be had.” Grant was looking dazed, but delighted. And his grin gave Gerard hope. “Come on Gerard, we need to get to him, _now_.” 

Grant pressed a rapid kiss to Mag’s cheek, and then with a quick glance to make sure Gerard was following him, he stepped into the portal.

***

Frank realised, with a cold, calm sort of certainty that he was going to die. 

Like a fool, he had put his faith into the wrong person, and now he was going to pay the ultimate price. 

The energy wrapped around his throat had completely cut off his circulation, and fighting against it only made him choke faster. His lungs screamed for air and his mouth hung open uselessly. He thought of Jamia, dead in his arms, and stopped fighting. 

Just as Frank’s limbs began to hang limply, Michael lifted his hands to raise his body high into the air. He was laughing, though he couldn’t remember when he started, victory shining at him at last. He had known for years that the only way to be truly unmatched in power was to rid the world of the child of the twelve, and now at last, he was doing it. And in the end, it had been so _easy_.

“Michael!” Gerard’s voice, familiar and so, so _irritating_ , rang out loud and clear through the cave. Before Michael could even turn his head to look at him, a blast of energy sent him careening through the air, whilst another sliced through his puppet strings like a dagger and sent Frank crashing to the floor.

Gerard stepped out of the portal behind Grant, and it’s whirling, spitting energy disappeared the moment they were through. 

Gerard ran to Frank, barely even taking in his surroundings. As he did so, Grant approached Michael, both hands raised in front of himself and his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Mathair talmhainn.” He spoke loud and deep, curling his fingers inward. “Thoir dhomh do chumhachd.” A loud, crunching sound echoed around the cave and great, jagged pieces of rock carved themselves out of the walls. They floated to Grant and then drifted around him, like great stone daggers pulled into his personal orbit. 

“You…” Michael wheezed as he rolled onto his back, struggling up onto his elbows to look at Grant as he approached him. Blood dripped down the side of Michael’s face from a cut to his temple, and more blood glistened from within one of his nostrils. “Finally come to pay me a visit, Grant?” 

“It pains me to do this Michael.” Grant spoke as calmly as ever, never relenting in his slow pace as he approached. “I was happy to let you live your life as you desired, but you have gone too far.”

“Why?” Michael struggled backwards on all fours, rapidly creating space between himself and Grant before he painfully got back to his feet. He turned his head and spat on the floor, his saliva tinted red. “Because I’ve picked on the pet of your precious _Gerard?_ ” He snarled, spitting again, at Grant’s feet this time. 

“You know that is not what I mean.” Grant stepped over the glob of saliva, undeterred. “There is dark magic for the sake of exploration… and then there is dark magic for the sake of power.” Grant looked slowly around the cave, taking in the threads of energy above their heads and the corn dolls sat on almost every available surface. 

“How many innocent lives have been lost in your quest for power?” He asked quietly, only just starting to realise the extent of it himself.

“I’ve lost count.” Michael laughed, rough and wheezing. “But three more are about to join them.” Without warning, Michael threw his hands forward, palms out, and sent a dozen threads of energy speeding at Grant like spears.

Grant lifted his arms above his head and bowed low, creating a dome over himself with the rocks that floated around him. The energy collided with them and blew several into smithereens, but enough held to keep Grant safe. 

At the sound of the rocks exploding, Gerard looked over, but he spared the fighting only the smallest of glances before his attention was back on Frank. 

From the moment he had hit the floor, Frank had been choking for air. He had been winded by the impact at first, but after a few terrifying gulps where nothing happened, his lungs had finally filled with oxygen and he had been gasping for more ever since. His throat burned where Michael’s magic had gripped it, but his wound was blessedly still closed, Grant’s healing having done enough to protect it. 

“Frank, Frank are you okay?” Gerard’s hands were fluttering over him, panicked and eager to touch. Frank couldn’t respond at first, could only inhale deeply and wait for his thundering heart to calm down, but eventually he was able to reach out and take Gerard’s hands in his own. 

“Gee-” He croaked, gazing up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t believe that he was here… Saving him, after all he had said and all he had done to hurt him. He wanted to pull him in close and kiss him until he ran out of breath again, but the sounds of fighting echoing through the cave made him sit up and look around instead.

“Grant.” Frank grabbed Gerard’s shoulders and tried to get to his feet, but he felt so weak he couldn’t even stand. 

“We’ve come to help.” Gerard pulled Frank up and held him tightly in his arms to keep him upright. “There’s so much to tell you.” 

“Y - You too.” Frank rasped, watching Grant and Michael fling magic at one another with deadly aim. “W - We need to help-”

“No, I need to tell you this.” Gerard gripped Frank tightly by the shoulders and turned him to him, speaking rapidly to tell him all that Blind Mag had said about the twelve. “That’s how you made that dagger. You asked Luna to draw down the mood and she _did_.” Gerard shook Frank gently when his eyes remained uncomprehending. “Don’t you see? Frank? This is the only way we win, you need to ask the Gods for help.” 

“The Gods?” Frank repeated, stunned. “What?”

“Michael is more powerful than we realised.” Gerard raced to explain. “We can’t kill him alone. You need to ask…” Gerard floundered, too ignorant when it came to the twelve to suggest _who_ exactly would have a gift they needed. 

“You need to ask one of them to help, to-” Gerard was cut off by a tentacle of energy coming down from the ceiling and dragging him to one side. It wrapped around his wrist at first, but then more came, drifting down like the vines of some awful plant, grabbing him by both ankles and around his neck as well and then lifting him high into the air. 

“GERARD!” Frank screamed, running after him but it was no use. He tried to jump up into the air, but in his panic he felt none of the usual energy inside him that signified his magic. 

“Frankie - agh!” Gerard’s head flung back as the energy around his throat tightened. He flung his free arm out, creating fire in his palm and cast it towards the energy binding him. The vines crept back, but it wasn’t enough. 

Frank turned to shout for Grant, but he was preoccupied with Michael, who was gaining ground now. 

The air was full of the threads of lights - Michael’s signature magic, his puppet strings - and they whipped at Grant and his shield of rocks, smashing them aside one by one. Grant dragged up more from the walls and the floor, sending them firing towards Michael like arrows, but every single one was cast aside with the lightest of flicks of Michael’s wrist.

“Did you really think you could walk in here and kill me?” Michael snarled, making a yanking motion with his arm and causing the vines around Gerard to start to pull, like he was on the wrack and someone was turning the wheel to pop his limbs from their sockets.

“I have spent _decades_ honing my magic to make sure I could beat _you_.” Michael turned his wild eyes on Grant and made grabbing motions with both hands. The veins in his neck bulged from the effort, his teeth clenched so hard he looked like he might crack them, but the effort paid off - the rocks floating around Grant were pulled into Michael’s force and he cast them away with a loud grunt. 

The rocks shattered against the walls, and as Grant moved to summon more, Michael swept him off his feet with a sweeping motion of one arm. 

“No!” Frank gasped, rushing to Grant before the floor buckled under him and he fell heavily to the ground. Michael stretched his hand towards Grant, his eyes now crimson red and blazing, and with one strained motion, he created a crack within the floor that thundered loud enough to deafen. 

“Agh!” Frank clapped his hands over his ears and rolled backwards just in time to miss the edge of the ravine as it grew and grew. The walls and earth shook with the force of an earthquake, and as Frank watched, the gap between him and Grant grew larger and larger. 

“Frank!” Gerard tried to call to him but his voice was strained from the threads around his neck. His eyes were bulging, his hands twisted against the energy ropes uselessly. “You need… to ask…” Gerard tried to inhale but he couldn’t get any more oxygen into his lungs. 

Frank looked up at him, fear making him dizzy. If Michael could hurt Gerard and Grant so easily, then he was surely no match for him? And as for asking a God for help, Frank had no idea how. When he’d asked Luna to draw down the moon he’d had no idea what he was doing. He’d just… done it.

Frank turned away from Michael and Grant who were once again flinging magic at one another, with Michael slowly increasing his position. He tried to block out the awful, rattling sounds of Gerard struggling for breath and _focused_. 

When he had beseeched Luna to draw down the moon he had visited her temple and knelt at her statue. But this was not a temple, and there wasn’t a single religious effigy to be had. Frank didn’t even know which God he would pray to. Ferrarius? He could request his fire and strength… Or Fluenta? He could ask her to flood the cave and kill Michael, but might they all die as well? Or Heleshki, the death God themself? 

_Heleshki_.

A sudden calm, quiet understanding sank over Frank. It was like a cold blanket, settling around him and soothing away the burning panic that made him sweat. It was like he had always known what to do, deep down inside. Like this moment had been planned from the day of his birth, and every step he had ever made had been to bring him here, to this moment, where he would have no choice but to kneel at the death God’s feet.

Trance-like, Frank began to move. He approached the closest wall and began to draw into the stone with his fingertip. Without even trying, he carved into the stone with a powerful beam of energy that left the scratches he made glowing with pale light. 

Heleshki was always represented by a faceless effigy wearing a cloak and holding a lantern. Frank drew such an image into the wall, working quickly, tuning out the sounds of shouting and banging behind him so he could concentrate. 

“Heleshki.” He whispered as he filled in minor details to the drawing. “I summon thee… Your help I seek, to heal this rift… Show me your light, give me your gift…” 

The lantern he had drawn suddenly glowed with light that was both bright and black all at once. It grew larger and larger, filling the cave and surrounding Frank like ink spreading through water, and as it did so the sounds around Frank grew fainter, until eventually they disappeared altogether and he was left in silence. 

***

_When Frank was a child he used to play in the woods with Jamia._

_When Frank was a child, he was taken as a prisoner of war to work in the palace._

_When Frank was a child, he had been a part of a coven._

Frank woke up to blackness.

Had he slept? Passed out? Had hours passed, or merely the blink of an eye? It was impossible to tell. He only knew that one moment he had been standing in Michael’s cave, and now he was standing in nothing but darkness. All around he could see nothing but black, but his mind felt as though it were pulsing with memories that had long been buried.

“Heleshki?” Frank turned in a slow circle, but the darkness around him was absolute. 

“ _Make your request, child.”_ The voice rang out from everywhere at once, soft as a whisper but layered with dozens upon dozens of voices. Frank recognised both male and female voices, old as a crone and young as a child and every sort of voice in between. It sent a shiver down his spine and he turned quicker, but there was nothing to see. 

“I… I have one gift from you?” 

“ _One gift._ ” The voices agreed, and as they talked the darkness seemed to fluctuate around Frank, as though he were standing within the walls of some great throat. 

There was only one thing on his mind. 

“I request a soul.” He said loudly, turning and looking for something, _anything_ to indicate the death God was listening. “I want my friend Jamia back, exactly as she was before she was killed.” 

There was the slightest of pauses, and then Heleshki spoke again. 

“ _The gift of life is the most precious of all._ ” It whispered. “ _It demands something in return.”_

Frank frowned, shaking his head. “No.” He snarled. “I was told one gift. You must give me one gift, whatever I request!”

“ _Foolish child.”_ The voices whispered, slithering around him like snakes. “ _The scales of life and death can never be unbalanced. A life was taken, and life cannot be returned without sufficient payment.”_

Frank considered this for a moment. “Then a life can be bought.” He said softly, and the air around him seemed to pulse. 

“ _The scales of life and death must never be unbalanced.”_

“But if I offered you a life in return?” Frank asked loudly, looking up and around, squinting through the darkness. “Would you return Jamia’s soul then? If someone else were to die?”

The darkness fluttered around him, like silent laughter.

“ _Then the scales would remain balanced.”_ It agreed quietly. “ _Name the sacrificed soul, and your request shall be granted.”_

***

Frank had disappeared, leaving nothing but a glowing scrawl on the wall behind him. From so high against the ceiling, Gerard couldn’t make out what he had drawn, but it looked like no sigil he knew. His mouth opened and closed like a landed fish gulping for air, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. He had long since given up fighting, his hope dwindling away like water down a drain.

Below him, Grant was on his back, scrabbling backwards as fast he could whilst one hand continued to fling every curse he knew at Michael. He had fought long and hard, but with no end in sight his energy was dwindling, whereas Michael seemed to only grow stronger with each passing second. 

“You should have known better than to come here old man.” Michael hissed, grinning devilishly as he summoned more of his threads of energy to fly towards Grant. “But how satisfying it is going to be to be the one to end you.” 

Grant used the last of his strength to cast a shield around himself, but he could feel it was not enough. He channelled all of his energy into it anyway, hoping that by some miracle it would be enough, and just as the vines made to grab him they stopped short.

Grant blinked, stunned.

“What-?” Michael scowled, furious and tried to fling the vines forward again, but nothing happened. He tried again, and again, and as his hands lifted before him he stopped short and began to scream. His fingertips were disappearing, like ash in the wind. 

“What… What is happening? What did you do? What did you DO!?” Michael stumbled backwards, and as he did so, more and more of him began to disappear. 

Grant sat up, watching in horrified amazement as Michael’s physical form dissolved before him. It was as though he had been made out of sand, and now a great wind was blowing him away. His featured went first, leaving his face smooth and unrecognisable. His clothes blew away to reveal a smooth, shapeless form beneath, and then that too began to disappear. 

Michael’s screaming ended with the disappearance of his mouth, but he continued to fall about, turning this way and that, a half-finished gollum searching for life and doomed to fail.

The energy threads above their heads glimmered and then vanished, and Gerard fell towards the stone floor. Grant turned too late, hand stretched out to try and catch him with no energy to actually do so, but then inches from the floor, Gerard stopped. 

“F -Frank…” Grant breathed, so relieved he could have sobbed. 

Frank was standing where the shimmering drawing in the wall had once been. He looked calm and well, and he suspended Gerard off the floor for a moment before gently laying him down. 

Grant heard the sound of sand shifting across the floor and he turned just in time to see the silhouette of Michael dissolve out of existence, leaving nothing but a few particles that danced in the air and then even they were gone.


	19. Epilogue

Gerard and Frank were invited to the royal ball as honorary guests. 

Azeroth Heron had disappeared from the kingdom, apparently satisfied with his cleansing, he had vanished from the palace without so much as a farewell. No one questioned it, such was the relief in the kingdom that he had gone at last. 

The Queen declared that there should be a grand ball, the grandest of all, to celebrate the arrival of summer. Everyone knew that it was really to celebrate that the reign of terror was over, but no one dared to say so out loud. 

The entire kingdom was invited, and though the main ballroom of the castle was used for all the lords and ladies and honoured guests, the doors were flung open and the outside courtyard was also decorated with colourful banners and filled with musicians who would play the same songs as in the main ballroom. Staff holding platters upon platters of food drifted outside as well as in, and all the way through the town, food vendors and bards and musicians of all kinds filled the streets, which were decorated with coloured flags. 

Everyone would be celebrating tonight, and probably through the week too, and who could blame them?

Within the palace, the Queen was getting ready. She wore her finest gown and a long veil studded with gems. She had her ladies in waiting create a show piece of her hair, and more precious stones glittered within her braids. On her finger, she wore a beautiful golden ring that had been forged to look like a knot tied around her finger. A very gifted blacksmith had created the delicate piece of jewelry, and it’s twin was on the finger of the woman who tenderly dabbed perfume onto the Queen’s neck. 

“You look beautiful.” Isabel touched Jamia’s hand and smiled wide at her. 

“As do you, my Queen.” Jamia bowed low, touching her lips to Isabel’s and losing herself in her sweet kiss. 

Jamia was dressed almost as richly as the Queen, in heavy silk skirts and enough jewels to fill a tea chest. It wasn’t the sort of outfit she would choose herself, but she was happy to wear it when it brought such joy to Isabel’s eyes. 

Frank, of course, would tease her for it later, but even that was fine these days. Jamia had never felt so happy in all her life, though her memories of what had happened since she’d set the girls in the dungeon free were… vague, to say the least. 

No one seemed willing to fill her in on what had happened between that night, and the night she had woken up - of all places - on a countertop in Gerard’s cottage. She could only assume she had gotten blind drunk and done something awful and embarrassing, losing an entire week’s worth of memories. She could accept that some things were better left forgotten, so she never pressured anyone to be honest with her.

As for Frank and Gerard, they had been rather emotional when she’d woken up to find them standing over her. She had been hugged and kissed a dozen times over, before Isabel had managed to muscle her way in and steal all the kisses for herself. 

For some reason Blind Mag had been there… and a man, but Jamia couldn’t really remember why or whether she’d just dreamt the whole thing…

With Michael gone, and Frank’s power unleashed, Grant had had no more reason to stay. He had lingered for a day or two, helping Gerard explain everything to Frank and to give him advice on how best to control his power. And then he had kissed both Frank and Gerard goodbye and had left with the changing tide.

Blind Mag decided to stay, and once again she took up her perch in the castle courtyard, where she had grown fond of the people. 

Gerard and Frank remained holed up in their cottage for a week, making love for days on end and making life-long promises to each other. 

By the time they rolled up to the castle for the ball, wearing glamours that would make everyone see their outfits as the most splendid outfits of all, they were pink cheeked and grinning like a pair of drunkards. 

“What’chu looking so pleased about boy?” Two Beard demanded when he saw Frank, wrinkling his nose up at the sight of his gold and shining outfit. “You look like you aint worked a single hard day of work since you left this place.” 

Frank beamed at Two Beard, feeling oddly happy to see him. For all the man’s faults, he had never truly hurt Frank, and for that he was grateful. “You look nice too, Two Beard.” He snickered as they waltzed past. 

He ran into Rohan next, just outside the ballroom. Rohan looked surprised at the sight of him and Gerard, the two of them almost seeming to glow in the candlelight, but he soon smiled and pulled Frank into a tight hug that smelled like stables. 

“So good to see you lad.” He beamed. “Have you been happy in your new life?”

Frank looked at Gerard, who in his eyes, was wearing nothing but a simple white shirt and black trousers, and was so breathtakingly handsome he felt weak. 

“I’ve never been happier.” He said honestly.

As they walked away, Frank just had to drag Gerard into a dark corner and cast a charm to hide them from view so he could kiss him. Gerard came willingly into his arms, his laughter getting cut off by Frank’s firm, biting kiss. 

“I love you.” He whispered fiercely, tip-toeing up and licking into Gerard’s mouth. “I love you so much.”

“And I you.” Gerard cupped the back of Frank’s neck and encouraged his kiss, moaning softly into his mouth as they lost themselves for a while. 

“I want to spend my life with you.” Frank mumbled into Gerard’s mouth, as he had done a dozen times in the last few days. “Tell me there’s a spell we can use.” 

Gerard laughed softly, touching Frank’s jaw and easing him gently back. 

“There are a dozen rituals.” He whispered, kissing Frank’s nose next. “Would you like something romantic, serious, or sexual?”

Frank groaned low in his throat and tangled his hands into Gerard’s shirt. “I want all of them.” He decided without even needing to think, before he yanked Gerard, laughing, back to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know I can't resist a happy ending! <3 
> 
> Thank you all again! May you all keep well and be safe <3


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